allegories about thunder-storms, or giving utterance to
superstitions of which the original meaning was forgotten. The old
grannies who, along with a stoical indifference to the fate of
quails and partridges, used to impress upon me the wickedness of
killing robins, did not add that I should be struck by lightning if
I failed to heed their admonitions. They had never heard that the
robin was the bird of Thor: they merely rehearsed the remnant of the
superstition which had survived to their own times, while the
essential part of it had long since faded from recollection. The
reason for regarding a robin’s life as more sacred than a
partridge’s had been forgotten; but it left behind, as was natural,
a vague recognition of that mythical sanctity. The primitive meaning
of a myth fades away as inevitably as the primitive meaning of a
word or phrase; and the rabbins which told of a worm which shattered
rocks no more thought of the writhing thunderbolts than the modern
reader thinks of oyster-shells when he sees the word _ostracism_, or
consciously breathes a prayer when he writes the phrase _Good-bye_.
CHAPTER XIV
LEGENDS IN A HISTORICAL SETTING
It is not easy in preparing a book devoted mainly to fable and folklore
to sort out material for a separate chapter on “legends.” A legend may
be defined as a narrative of something thought of as having actually
happened in connection with some real purpose or place, but which is
unsupported by historical evidence. In many cases such narratives are
quite incredible, but even so they may have a historically illustrative,
a literary, or at least an amusing interest. Stories of a considerable
number of well-known kinds of birds are in this way connected with
actual persons, or with verifiable incidents of the past, and hence may
be said to be “legends in an historical setting.” A fair example of them
is the incident of the Capitoline geese.
Early in the third century before the Christian era a horde of Gaulish
invaders under Brennus over-ran central Italy, and in 388 B.C. captured
all of Rome itself except the lofty citadel called the Capitol, where a
Roman general officer, Marcus Manlius, held out with a small garrison on
the point of starvation. One night the besieging Gauls, having
discovered an unguarded by-path, crept up the rocky steep, intending the
surprise and capture of the almost worn-out defenders. “But,” says
Plutarch,[94] in Dryden’s translation, “there were sacred Geese kept
near the Temple of Juno, which at other times were plentifully fed, but
at this time, by reason of the Corn and all other Provisions were grown
strait, their allowance was shorten’d and they themselves in a poor and
lean condition. This Creature is by nature of quick sense, and
apprehensive of the least noise; so that besides watchful through
hunger, and restless, they immediately discovered the coming of the
Gauls; so that running up and down, with their noise and cackling they
raised the whole camp.”
Manlius sprang from sleep, aroused a body of soldiers and repelled the
attack. It was the beginning of an ultimate victory over the enemy. Rome
was saved, and in recognition of it Manlius was given the honorary title
Capitolinus, and for a long time afterward the incident was celebrated
annually by a procession to the Capitol in which a golden goose was
carried. Livy also tells us in his history that the prototype of this
golden symbol was a single sentinel goose never seen before, hence a
divine aid sent to Rome for the purpose by the gods. It is interesting
to note that
These consecrated geese in orders
That to the capitol were warders
And being then upon patrol
With noise alone beat off the Gaul,
as _Hudibras_ has it, were “sacred” to Juno, for this was before the
time when she, having changed from the status of simple wife to Jupiter
(and a model to human wives), had become the imperious and
trouble-making empress of later days, and had discarded the motherly
goose for the exotic, proud, and royally splendid peacock. This is a
capital example of the adaptive character of the assignment of birds to
the various demigods of the Roman pantheon; and it suggests the query
whether in some principal cases reverence for the bird itself did not
precede the conception of the divinity it afterward typified.
Another tale of birds acting as sentinels explains how the wren came to
be so mortally hated by the Irish, whose cruel “hunting of the wren” is
described in another chapter. According to Lady Wilde,[60] a student of
Irish folklore, this hatred is owing to the fact that once when Irish
troops were approaching to attack a part of Thomas Cromwell’s army
(about 1650) “wrens came and perched on the Irish drums, and by their
tapping and noise aroused the English soldiers, who fell on the Irish
troops and killed all of them.” This is a variant of a legend far older
than Cromwell’s campaigning; and it is not the true explanation of the
antipathy the cruder Irish and Manxmen still feel toward this innocent
little songster, while at the same time they have a peculiar tenderness
for the robin.
A third parallel is found in the annoyance caused the Scottish
Covenanters. Many a meeting of pious Presbyterians in some hidden,
heathery glen of the misty hills was discovered and roughly dispersed
“because of the hovering, bewailing plovers, fearful for their young,
clamoring overhead.” The poet Leyden alludes to the long-remembered
grudge against this suspicious bird when, speaking of the religious
refugees on the moors, he writes:
The lapwing’s clamorous whoop attends their flight,
Pursues their steps where’er the wanderers go,
Till the shrill scream betrays them to the foe.
Returning to ancient history, two bird-stories of Alexander the Great
are delightful as illustrating how an independent and masterful
intellect, even in that early day above the Pagan superstitions of the
time, might with ingenuity and boldness bend the sanctions of religion
to his own ends without destroying them. The first one is an incident
recorded of Alexander’s campaign in Asia Minor in 334 B.C. His fleet
was anchored in the harbor of Miletus, and opposite it lay the fleet
of the Persians. Alexander had no desire to disturb this situation,
for he meant his army, not the navy, to do the work in view. One day
an eagle, Jove’s bird, was seen sitting on the shore behind the
Macedonian ships, and Parmenion, chief of staff, found in this fact
convincing indication by the gods that victory was with the ships.
Alexander pointed out that the eagle had perched on the land, not on
the ships, giving thereby the evident intimation that it was only
through the victory of the troops on land that the fleet could have
value. As Alexander was commander-in-chief, this was evidently the
orthodox interpretation.
Two years later Alexander was one day laying out on its site the plan of
his foreordained city of Alexandria, in Egypt, and was marking the
course of the proposed streets by sprinkling lines of flour in the lack
of chalk-dust. “While the king,” says Plutarch, “was congratulating
himself on his plan, on a sudden a countless number of birds of various
sorts flew over from the land and the lake in clouds, and settling on
the spot in clouds devoured in a short time all the flour, so that
Alexander was much disturbed in mind at the omen involved, till the
augurs restored his confidence, telling him the city ... was destined to
be rich in its resources, and a feeder of nations of men.”
The straight face with which Plutarch[94] recites these and similar
stories of hocus-pocus in the matter of inconvenient omens is
delightful; but the faith of the common people was not so easily shaken.
For example: When the Sicilian-Greek army of Agathocles, Tyrant of
Syracuse in the third century, B. C., was facing near Times a more
powerful Carthaginian force, Agathocles let loose a number of owls among
his men, “who suddenly took great courage as the birds sacred to Pallas
settled blinking upon their helmets and shields”—and they routed the
bigger enemy. That was true religious inspiration—as true as ever blazed
in the heart of Christian crusader; but it was a sacrilegious trick on
the part of Agathocles!
Just across the strait from Sicily, at Regium (Reggio), was the home of
the celebrated cranes of Ibycus. Ibycus, a local poet, was being
murdered by robbers when he called on the cranes fluttering near by to
give witness of his death. Later, the murderers were one day at the
theatre, when they saw a flock of cranes, and in fright whispered to one
another: “The cranes of Ibycus!” They were overheard, arrested and
executed, whence the proverb “the cranes of Ibycus” to express crime
coming unexpectedly to light.
_The Wonderful Magazine_, an amazing periodical issued in London from
1793 to 1798, contained a story that in 1422 a “Roman” emperor besieging
Zeta took all the sparrows his men could catch, and, tying lighted
matches to their feet, let them go toward the town. But the citizens
made a great noise, and the frightened sparrows flying back set the
Roman camp on fire and so raised the siege. The reader may put his own
estimate on this bit of historical lore; and may discover, if he can,
where and what was Zeta.
Arabs in Palestine tell how a bird was involved in David’s sin of
coveting Uriah’s wife. David, they say, had shut himself up in a tower
for meditation, when, happening to look up, he saw just outside the
window a bird of amazing beauty—a pigeon whose plumage gleamed like gold
and jewels. David threw some crumbs on the floor, whereupon the pigeon
came in and picked them up, but eluded David’s attempt to capture it. At
last, to escape his efforts, it flew to the window and settled on one of
the bars. He pursued, but it departed. It was then, as David followed
the bright creature with longing eyes, that he caught sight of Madame
Uriah in the bath—and was done for!
Among other excellent things in Hanauer’s _Tales from Palestine_[43] is
the following report of Solomon’s contest with a dove:
“In the southern wall of the Kubbet ’es-Sakhra [at Jerusalem], the
mosque that now stands near the site of the ancient Temple, on the right
side of the door as one enters there is a gray slab framed in marble of
a dark color. It contains a figure, formed by natural veins in the
stone, which is distinct enough to be taken for a picture of two doves
perched facing each other on the edge of a vase. With this picture is
connected a tale....
“The great king Solomon understood the language of beasts, birds and
fishes, and, when he had occasion to do so, would converse with all of
them. One day, soon after he had completed the Temple, as he was
standing at a window of the royal palace, he overheard a conversation
between a pair of birds that were sitting on the housetop. Presently the
male, who was evidently trying to impress the female with his
importance, exclaimed: ‘Solomon is a conceited fool! Why should he be so
vain of this pile of buildings he has raised? I, if I wished, could kick
them all over in a few minutes.’
“The king, greatly enraged by this pompous speech, summoned the offender
into his presence and demanded what he meant by such an outrageous
boast. ‘Your majesty,’ replied the bird, ‘will, I am sure, forgive my
audacity, when I explain that I was in the company of a female; since
your majesty doubtless knows from experience that in such circumstances
the temptation to boast is almost irresistible.’ The monarch, forgetting
his anger in his amusement, said with a smile: ‘Go your way this time,
but see that you do not repeat the offence,’ and the bird, after a
profound obeisance, flew away to rejoin his mate.
“He had hardly alighted before the female, unable to repress her
curiosity, eagerly inquired why he had been summoned to the palace.
‘Oh,’ said the impudent boaster, ‘the king heard me tell you that if I
chose I could kick down all his buildings in no time, and he sent for me
to beg me not to do it.’
“Solomon, who, of course, heard this remark also, was so indignant at
the incorrigible vanity of its author that he at once turned both birds
into stone. They remain to this day as a reminder of the saying: ‘The
peace of mankind consists in guarding the tongue.’”
But the stories of Solomon and his bird-friends are many. He was
evidently a jolly old soul, and tradition says that when he travelled
across the desert clouds of birds formed a canopy to protect him from
the sun. The hoopoe, a high-crested bird that figures largely in other
fanciful tales of the East, tells wise Solomonic stories, and is still
regarded by Saharan nomads as possessed of peculiar virtues. The great
Jewish king, whose reality is almost hidden under the legendary mantle,
is said to have chosen the hoopoe, the cock and the pewit: the first
because of its wit, the second in admiration of its cry, and the third
because, says Hanauer, it can see through the earth, and could tell him
where fountains of water could be found. The last preference is natural
in an arid region, the pewit being a water-bird, the familiar
lapwing-plover; and as it annually migrates through Palestine into
Ethiopia it is reasonable that it should be fabled to be the means of
bringing Solomon and the Queen of Sheba together, as is described in
Chapter XXVII of the Koran. It should be noted that all of these birds
are crested.
The veneration given to doves by the Mohammedans at Mecca is accounted
for elsewhere; but swallows are held in almost equal reverence by both
officials and pilgrims at that great shrine of Islam, and build their
nests in the haram. This respect is explained by Keane[14] as the result
of a belief that they were the instruments by which Mecca was saved from
the Abyssinian (Christian) army that is known to have invaded Arabia in
the year of Mohammed’s birth, and to have been disastrously expelled.
The tradition is that God sent flocks of swallows, every bird carrying
three small stones in its beak and two in its claws, which were dropped
on the heads of the Abyssinians, and miraculously penetrated the bodies
of men and elephants until only one of the invaders was left alive. He
fled back to his country, and had just finished telling of the disaster
to the king when one of the swallows, which had followed him from Mecca,
dropped its pebble and killed him too. The kernel of this dramatic story
is in the nineteenth section of the Koran:[59] “And he sent against them
birds in flocks (ababils), claystones did he hurl down at them.” The
historical explanation is that the Abyssinian invaders were destroyed by
small-pox, the pustules of which are called in Arabic by a word meaning
“small stones.”
Of a piece with these traditions and the Rabbinical tales of the Jews
are the monkish legends preserved in early British chronicles, such as
that by the Venerable Bede or by William of Malmesbury. The orthodox as
well as dissenters had trouble with birds. Among the traditions of the
celebrated Scotch-Irish missionary Columba (Latinized from his baptismal
name Colum, “dove”) is one that once in his ardent youth Colum was
trying to make by stealth in a church a copy of the psalter in
possession of the selfish king, Finian of Donegal, who had refused the
young enthusiast that privilege. A meddlesome stork, confined within the
church, informed the sacristan, and Colum was arrested. Nevertheless by
divine aid he got his copy, helpful to him afterward in his beneficent
work in the Scottish highlands.
One of the prettiest of these old stories is that of St. Kenneth and the
gulls.[22] One day about A. D. 550 the blackheaded gulls, flying as
usual along the coast of Wales, and scanning the sea sharply for food or
anything else interesting to a gull, found floating in a coracle—a
round, wickerwork canoe—a human baby a day or two old, contentedly
asleep on a pallet made of a folded purple cloth. Several gulls seized
the corners of this cloth and so carried the child to the ledge of the
Welsh cliff where they nested, plucked feathers from their breasts to
make a soft bed, laid the baby on it, then hastened to fly inland and
bring a doe to provide it with milk, for which an angel offered a brazen
bell as a cup. There the blessed waif lived for several months; but one
day, in the absence of all the gulls, a shepherd discovered the infant
and took him down to his hut and his kind wife. The gulls, returning
from the sea, heard of this act from the doe. They at once rushed to the
shepherd’s cottage, again lifted the babe by the corners of its purple
blanket, and bore him back to the ledge of their sea-fronting crag.
There he stayed until he had grown to manhood—a man full of laughter and
singing and kind words; and the Welsh peasants of the Gower Peninsula
revered him and called him Saint Kenneth.
Somewhat similar is the legendary history of Coemagen, or Saint Kelvin,
an Irish monk of the eighth century, into whose charge was committed the
infant son of Colman, a Leinster noble. “Coemagen fed the child on the
milk of a doe which came from the forest to the door of his cell. A
raven was wont, after the doe had been milked, to perch on the bowl, and
sometimes would upset it. ‘Bad luck to thee!’ exclaimed the saint. ‘When
I am dead there will be a famous wake, but no scraps for thee and thy
clan!’ When very old St. Kelvin moved into a forest hermitage, where the
birds came to him as companions. Once, while praying, his supplicating
palms outstretched, a blackbird (thrush) dropped her eggs into the
hollow of his hands, and he held his arms rigid until the chicks
hatched.”
A curious parallel to the last incident is quoted by the Baroness
Martinengo-Caesaresco[20] “from an industrious translator” of the book
_Tatchi-Lou-Lun_, describing how when a bird laid her eggs on the head
of the first Buddha, which she mistook for the branch of a tree, he
plunged himself into a trance so as not to move until the eggs had
hatched and the young were flown.
St. Bede the younger, a contemporary of Coemagen, had a dove that used
to come at his call; and an Irish monk, Comgall, would bid the swans
near his residence come and cluster devotionally around his feet. Many
saints, the legends declare, had authority over birds, and one, St.
Millburg, abbess of Wenlock, in Shropshire, kept them out of the
farmers’ crops by telling them it was naughty to despoil the grain. Of
old, according to Canon Kingsley, St. Guthlac in Crowland said, as the
swallows sat upon his knee, “He who leads his life according to the will
of God, to him will the wild deer and the wild birds draw more near.”
The religious “hermits,” so prevalent at that period, were men who chose
a more or less solitary life, quite as much, I suspect, on account of
their love of nature as from purely devotional motives, and this was
particularly true of those in Great Britain, exhibiting the
characteristic British fondness for animal life. There was an early St.
Bartholomew, for example, who in the sixth century or thereabout dwelt
in seclusion on one of the Farne Islands off the northeastern coast of
England, and made friends of the gulls and cormorants of the place. One
of these he had tamed to eat out of his hand, and once, when Bartholomew
was away fishing, a hawk pursued this poor bird into the chapel and
killed it. Brother Bartholomew came in and found the hawk there with
bloody talons and a shame-faced appearance. He caught it, kept it two
days without food to punish it, then let it go. At another time, as he
sat by the shore, a cormorant approached and pulled at his skirt, then
led him to where one of its young had fallen into a crevice of the rocks
whence the good man rescued it.
One of these rocky islets in the North Sea became so famous during the
next century that it has been known ever since as Holy Isle, and the
ruins of its monastery and cathedral still remain and may be seen from
the railway train as it passes along the brink of the lofty coast a
little south of Berwick-on-Tweed. This was the seat of the renowned
Bishop Cuthbert of whom many quaint stories are told, apart from the
record of his religious work. They attribute to his influence the
extraordinary gentleness and familiarity characteristic of the eider
duck, which is known to this day in Northumbria as Cuthbert’s bird. It
was he, according to a narrative of a monk of the 13th century, who
inspired these ducks with a hereditary trust in mankind by taking them
as companions of his solitude when for several years he resided alone on
Lindisfarne. There is good reason to accept this and similar traditions
as largely true, for a like ability in “gentling” birds and other wild
animals is manifested to-day by some persons of a calm and kindly sort.
Early in the eighth century a monk of intensely ascetic disposition,
named Guthlac, retired to a solitary hermitage on an island in the
dismal morasses of Lincolnshire, which afterward, if not then, was
called Croyland or Crowland. He was sorely tempted by the Devil we are
informed, and had many battles with “demons”—native British refugees
hiding in the fens; but in the intervals of his fasting and fighting he
got acquainted with the wild creatures about him. “The ravens, the
beasts and the fishes,” says the record, “came to obey him. Once a
venerable brother named Wilfred visited him, and ... suddenly two
swallows came flying in ... and often they sat fearlessly on the
shoulders of the holy man Guthlac, and then lifted up their song, and
afterward they sat on his bosom and on his arms and his knees.... When
Guthlac died angelic songs were heard in the sky, and all the air had a
wondrous odor of exceeding sweetness.”
St. Kentigern, when a schoolboy, was wrongly accused of having twisted
off the head of his master’s pet robin. He proved his innocence by
putting the head and body together, whereupon the robin came to life and
attended Kentigern until he became a great and good man. His master was
St. Servan, and the robin was one that used to eat from his hand and
perch on his shoulder, where it would twitter whenever Servan chanted
the Psalms.
Here we encounter the mystical kind of story with which those old
chroniclers like to embellish their biographies of holy men, and there
was no limit to their credulity. Such is the tale of Carilef, a French
would-be hermit of Ménàt, in Auvergne, who thought he was guided to set
up a religious station because a wren had laid an egg in a hood that he
had left hanging on a bush—a very wrenlike proceeding; and that was the
foundation of the monastery about which the city of St. Calais grew in
later times. Several other incidents of this kind are on record, showing
that the value placed on any action by a bird that could be construed as
a divine message. It is written that Editha, one of the early queens of
England, persuaded her husband to found a religious house near Oxford on
account of the omens she interpreted from the voice and actions of a
certain magpie. Similarly the site for the abbey of Thierry, near
Rheims, in France, was indicated to St. Theodoric, in the sixth century,
by a white eagle circling around the top of the hill on which it
subsequently was erected; and this miraculous eagle was seen year after
year in the sky above it.
About that time Kenelm, son and heir of Kenulph, king of Wessex, was
seven years old. His sister, who wanted to succeed to the throne in his
place, procured his murder. The instant this was accomplished the fact
was notified to the Pope, according to the _Chronicles_ of Roger de
Wendover, by a white dove that alighted on the altar of St. Peter’s,
bearing in its beak a scroll on which was written
In Clent cow-pasture, under a thorn,
Of head bereft lies Kenelm, king-born.
The Pope sent word to England, the body was found in a thicket over
which hung a pillar of supernal light, and was taken to Winchelcumb, in
Gloucestershire, for burial; and at the spot near Halesowen, in
Shropshire, where he was killed, Kenelm’s Chapel was erected.
But the most mystical legend in which birds are a part, is one familiar
in Brittany. It is related of St. Leonore, a Welsh missionary who went
to Brittany in the sixth century, to whom many fabulous powers and deeds
are attributed, the most comprehensible of which Baring-Gould has put
into verse. Leonore, with a band of followers, had decided to settle in
Brittany on a desolate moor; but they had forgotten to bring any
seed-wheat, and were alarmed.
Said the abbot, “God will help us
In this hour of bitter loss.”
Then one spied a little redbreast
Sitting on a wayside cross.
Doubtless came the bird in answer
To the words the monk did speak,
For a heavy wheat-ear dangled
From the robin’s polished beak.
Then the brothers, as he dropped it
Picked it up and careful sowed;
And abundantly in autumn
Reaped the harvest where they strewed.[21]
Greater poets than Baring-Gould or even Bishop Trench have found
literary material in these monastic tales. Witness Longfellow’s _Golden
Legend_, where he sings of good St. Felix, the Burgundian missionary who
crossed the Channel, and in A.D. 604 converted to Christianity the wild
king of the East Saxons; and who listened to the singing of a milk-white
bird for a hundred years, although it had seemed to him but an hour, so
enchanted was he with the music. No doubt myth-mongers might discourse
very scientifically on this and some other of these episodes in the
penumbra of history, but we will leave the pleasure of it to them.
None of these traditions of early bird-lovers and teachers of kindness
are so pleasant as are those inspired by the gracious life of St.
Francis.[22] A familiar classic is his sermon to the birds when
Around Assisi’s convent gate
The birds, God’s poor who cannot wait,
From moor and mere and darksome wood
Came flocking for their dole of food.
One of the prettiest Franciscan stories is that of the saint and the
nightingale as presented by Mrs. Jamieson;[105] and, by the way,
antiphonal singing with birds is related of several holy men and women
of old:
As he was sitting with his disciple Leo, he felt himself penetrated
with joy and consolation by the song of the nightingale ... and
Francis began to sing, and when he stopped the nightingale took up
the strain; and thus they sang alternately until the night was far
advanced and Francis was obliged to stop for his voice failed. Then
he confessed that the little bird had vanquished him. He called it
to him, thanked it for its song, and gave it the remainder of his
bread; and having bestowed his blessing upon it the creature flew
away.
Longfellow has preserved in melodious verse that legend of the Spanish
Charles V and the swallow that chose his tent as a site for its nest at
a time when the emperor—
I forget in what campaign,
Long besieged in mud and rain
Some old frontier town of Flanders.
Yes, it was a swallow’s nest,
Built of clay and hair of horse’s
Mane, or tail, or dragoon’s crest,
Found on hedgerows east and west
After skirmish of the forces.
The headquarters staff were scandalized by the bird’s impudence, but
Charles forbade their malice:
“Let no hand the bird molest,”
Said he solemnly, “nor hurt her!”
Adding then, by way of jest,
“Golondrina is my guest,
’Tis the wife, of some deserter!”
So unharmed and unafraid
Sat the swallow still and brooded,
Till the constant cannonade
Through the walls a breach had made,
And the siege was thus concluded.
Then the army elsewhere bent
Struck the tents as if disbanding,
Only not the Emperor’s tent.
For he ordered as he went,
Very curtly, “Leave it standing.”
So it stood there all alone,
Loosely flapping, torn and tattered,
Till the brood was fledged and flown,
Swinging o’er those walks of stone
Which the cannon-shot had shattered.
CHAPTER XV
SOME PRETTY INDIAN STORIES
Not many of the stories about birds now or formerly current among the
American aborigines are of a pleasing character. They are fantastic
myths for the most part, as appears from many of the incidents given
elsewhere in this book; and often they are so wildly improbable,
incoherent, and unbirdlike as to disgust rather than interest us. That
is partly owing, no doubt, to our difficulty in taking the native point
of view, and our ignorance of the significance the half-animal,
half-human characters in the tales have to the redmen, with whom, in
most cases, the startling narratives pass for veritable tribal history.
Their stories are as foreign to our minds as is their “tum-tum” music to
our ears. Now and then, however, we come across an understanding and
pleasing legend, of purely native origin, and touched with poetic
feeling.
A favorite story among the central Eskimos, for instance, is that of
their race-mother Sedna, who was the daughter of a chief, and was wooed
by a fulmar (a kind of northern petrel) who promised her, if she would
marry him, a delightful life in his distant home. So she went away with
him. But she had been ruefully deceived, and was cruelly mistreated. A
year later her father went to pay her a visit; and discovering her
misery he killed her husband and took his repentant daughter home. The
other fulmars in the village followed them, mourning and crying for
their murdered fellow, and fulmars continue to utter doleful cries to
this day.
Another Eskimo tale relates that a loon told a poor blind boy that he
could cure him of his affliction. So the boy crept after the bird to a
lake, where the loon took him and dived with him into the water. Three
times they repeated their submergence, the last time staying a long time
under the water, but when the boy came to the surface after the third
diving he had good eyesight. This seems one of the rare examples of a
tale told simply for its own sake, and free of any esoteric
significance.
A very pretty legend, current among the Eskimos of western Alaska, has
been preserved for us by Edward W. Nelson,[101] who spent several years,
late in the 19th century, in studying the ornithology and ethnology of
the Bering Sea region. It relates to the redpolls, the most abundant and
entertaining land-birds of Alaska, where it would be a surprisingly hard
heart that was not touched by their companionship as winter closes down
on a dreary landscape of snow-drifts. Let me quote Mr. Nelson’s words:
At this season the stars seem each to hang from the firmament by an
invisible cord, and twinkle clear and bright overhead. The sharp,
querulous yelp of the white fox alone breaks the intense stillness.
A white, frosty fog hangs in the air—the chilled breath of
nature—which falls silently to the ground in the lovely crystal
handiwork of northern genii. In the north a pale auroral arch moves
its mysterious banners, and the rounding bosom of the earth, chill
under its white mantle, looks dreary and sad. After such a night the
sun seems to creep reluctantly above the horizon, as though loath to
face the bitter cold. The smoke rises slowly and heavily in the
fixed atmosphere, and warm rooms are doubly appreciated.
Soon small troops of these little redpolls come ... flitting about
the houses on all sides, examining the bare spots on the ground,
searching the old weeds and fences, clinging to the eaves, and even
coming to the window-sills, whence they peer saucily in, making
themselves continually at home, and receiving a hearty welcome for
their cheering presence. The breast is now a beautiful peach-blossom
pink, and the crown shining scarlet. How this bird came to bear
these beautiful colors is told in one of the Indian myths ... which
begins thus:
Very long ago the whole of mankind was living in cheerless
obscurity. Endless night hid the face of the world, and men were
without the power of making a fire, as all the fire of the world was
in the possession of a ferocious bear living in a far-off country to
the north. The bear guarded his charge with unceasing vigilance, and
so frightful was his appearance that no man dared attempt to obtain
any of the precious substance. While the poor Indians were sorrowing
over their misfortunes the redpoll, which at that time was a plain
little wood-sparrow, dressed in ordinary dull brown, heard their
plaint—for in those days men and beasts understood one another,—and
his heart was touched. He prepared himself for a long journey and
set out toward the lodge of the cruel bear. After many adventures
... he reached the place, and by a successful ruse stole a living
ember from the perpetual fire which glowed close under the breast of
the savage guardian, and flew away back with it in his beak. The
glow of the coal was reflected from his breast and crown, while his
forehead became slightly burned. Far away he flew, and finally
arrived safely at the home of mankind, and was received with great
rejoicing.
He gave the fire to the grateful people and told them to guard it
well; and as he did so they noticed the rich glow on his breast and
brow, and said: “Kind bird, wear forever that beautiful mark as a
memento of what you have done for us;” and to this day the redpoll
wears this badge in proof of the legend, as all may see, and mankind
has ever since had fire.
One might gather a considerable collection of historical anecdotes
relating to birds that in one way or another aided the Indians of old to
obtain or to preserve fire, and some of them are noted incidentally
elsewhere in this volume; but few are as poetic and entertaining as Mr.
Nelson’s contribution.
The late Charles G. Leland found among the Algonkins of Maine and
eastward a great number of tales that he put into his books. One or two
of them are about birds, and these he threw into verse and published
them in a volume entitled _Kuloskap the Master_.[91] The longest and
most romantic of these is the love-story of the Leaf for the Red Bird
(scarlet tanager), quoted in part below:
In the earliest time on the greatest mountain
Lived merry Mipis, the little leaf ...
Listens all day to the birds and the breezes,
And goes to sleep to the song of the owl.
Merry Mipis on a bright May morning
Was stretching himself in the warm sunshine
When he heard afar a wonderful music,
A sound like a flute and the voice of a maiden,
Rippling melodies melting in one.
Never before had he heard such singing.
Then looking up he beheld before him
A beautiful merry little bird-girl,
Dressed in garments of brilliant scarlet,
Just like his own in the Indian summer.
“O fairest of small birds,” said merry Mipis,
“Who are you, and what is your name?”
Thus she answered: “I am Squ’tes,
The Little Fire....
I have lived in the deep green forest,
Even as you have for many ages,
Singing my songs to K’musom’n,
Unto our Father the mighty mountain;
And, because he well loved my music,
For a reward he sent me hither
To seek a youth whose name is Mipis,
Whom he wills that I should wed.”
This unexpected and rather unmaidenly avowal rather startled Mipis, and
made him suspicious of some trickery, despite the attraction of her
charm; but Squ’tes, “never heeding what the leaf thought,” began again—
Pouring out in the pleasant sunshine
Her morning song. As Mipis listened
To the melodious trill he melted;
For the sweet tune filled all the forest,
Every leaf on the tree was listening....
And as the music grew tender and stronger,
And as in one long soft note it ended,
Little Leaf said to her: “Be my own.”
So in the greenwood they lived together.
One day both go to the Mountain and thank him for their happiness; and
in the course of the visit the grandsire warns them not to go away from
the Mountain, for dangers fill the outside world, thus:
The little Indian boy Monimquess,
Who, armed with a terrible bow and arrows,
Shoots all of the little birds of the forest;
and—
Aplasemwesit, the Little Whirlwind,
Who never rests. He is always trying
To blow the leaves away from the branches.
So they built their nest on the great tree that grew “in the safest
place in all the mountain,” and for a time continued in bliss; but Mipis
could see from their lofty home a far, beautiful country, and wanted to
visit it. So Red Bird took the discontented Little Leaf in her bill and
bore him away into the delightful lowland, where again they built a
home; but here the Indian boy heard the wonderful singing, and shot the
singer, and Little Whirlwind seized Mipis and took him to his grandsire,
the Storm, who resolved to keep Mipis as a prisoner. That night the
Mountain dreamed of this, and sent his son to demand Mipis, and the
Storm gave him up, so that soon Little Leaf was back on his safe
mountain-tree—but he lived in lonely grief.
His life was gone with the Little Fire,
And the fire of his life was all in ashes.
How then had it fared with the lost Red Bird? When she fell under the
boy’s arrow she was not killed but sorely wounded; and when the young
Indian carried her home, very proud of his prize, his grandsire said
truly that the bird must be kept captive. Red Bird recovered rapidly,
and one morning Monimquess was dismayed to hear her singing as loudly as
possible, “like a brook to sunshine,” as he thought, for he knew she was
trying to make herself heard by the Mountain, and that if she succeeded
destruction would be hurled upon the wigwam. At last, wearied with
anxious thinking—
Down by the fire he lay on a bearskin
Smoking himself into silent sleep.
The door was closed, nor was there a crevice
Through which the Red Bird could creep to freedom,
When all at once she thought of the opening
Through which the smoke from the fire ascended,
Ever upward so densely pouring
Nobody dreamed she would dare to pass it.
As the head of Monimquess drooped on his shoulder....
Softly the Red Bird rose, and taking
A birchen bucket filled it with water.
Dipping her wing in the water she sprayed it
Little by little upon the fire.
Little by little the fire, like Monimquess,
Sank to sleep, and the bright red flame
Lay down to rest in the dull gray ashes.
Out of the smoke-hole, in careful silence,
Flitted Squ’tes....
So the lovers were reunited. Then
... Squ’tes and Mipis
Lived all the summer upon the mountain,
Sung in its shadows and shone in the sunshine.
Still as of yore they are singing and shining;
And so it will be while the mountain is there.
A very curious feature of this delicate romance, which reminds one of
the love-story of the Nightingale and the Rose, is the transposition of
sex. To our minds it would seem natural that the bird, as the most
active of the two characters, should take the male part and the leaf the
other; and it is false to fact that Red Bird, as a female, should
_sing_. The Indians must have known that this was unnatural, yet their
poetic sense arranged it otherwise, just as the poets have pictured the
nightingale pressing _her_ breast against a thorn, yet singing, as only
male birds do!
Elsewhere I have shown how important a part the loon plays in the
mythology and fireside tales of the redmen of the Northeastern region of
our country and that of the Great Lakes. To the Algonkins of Maine and
eastward this bird was the messenger of their great hero Glooscap, or
Kuloskap, as Leland spells it with careful accuracy when writing in the
language of the Pasamaquoddies; and he has told in verse the story of
how this service was accepted by the willing bird. One day when Kuloskap
was pursuing the gigantic magician, Winpe, his enemy, a flock of loons
came circling near him, and to his question to their leader: “What is
thy will, O Kwimu?” the loon replied: “I fain would be thy servant, thy
servant and thy friend.” Then the Master taught the loons a cry, a
strange, prolonged cry, like the howl of a dog when he calls to the
moon, or when, far away in the forest, he seeks to find his master; and
he instructed them to utter this weird summons whenever they required
him.
Now it came to pass long after, the Master in Uktakumkuk
(The which is Newfoundland) came to an Indian village,
And all who dwelt therein were Kwimuuk, who had been
Loons in the time before. And now they were very glad
As men to see once more the Master, who had blessed them
When they were only birds. Therefore he made them his huntsmen.
Also his messengers. Hence comes that in all the stories
Which are told of the mighty Master the loons are ever his friends;
And the Indians, when they hear the cry of the loons, exclaim:
“Kimu elkomtuejul Kuloskapul”—the Loon is calling
Kuloskap, the Master.
Leith Adams[103] says: “Stories are told”—among the Micmacs in New
Brunswick—“how the snowy owl still laments the Golden Age when man and
all animals lived in perfect amity until it came to pass that they began
to quarrel; when the great Glooscap, or Gotescarp, got disgusted and
sailed across the seas to return when they made up their differences. So
every night the owl repeats to this day his _Koo, koo, skoos_. ‘Oh, I am
sorry, Oh, I am sorry.’”
A quaint little legend comes from the Tillamooks, whose home was
formerly on the Oregon coast, where the tides do not rise very much. In
the beginning of the world, it teaches, the crow had a voice like that
of the thunder-bird, and the thunder-bird the voice of a crow. The
latter proposed to exchange voices. The crow agreed to this, but
demanded that in return the thunder-bird give her low water along the
seashore, so that she might more easily gather the clams and other
mussels, which was a part of a Tillamook woman’s daily task. The
thunder-bird therefore made the water draw back a very long distance.
But when the crow went out on the waste of sea-bottom she saw so many
marine monsters that she was frightened, and begged the thunder-bird not
to make the waters recede so far; and that is the reason that now but
little ocean-bottom is exposed at ebb tide on the Oregon coast.
The Gualala Indians were a tribe of the great Pomo family that half a
century ago dwelt happily in the northwestern corner of Sonoma County,
California, and their staple food was the flour of crushed and filtered
acorns of several kinds of oaks. In their country, as elsewhere in that
State, the California woodpecker (_Melanerpes_) is a very common bird,
which has the habit of drilling numerous small holes in pines and other
soft-wooded trees, and fixing in each an acorn—a method of storing its
favorite food against a time of famine. The Indians understood this very
well, and in times of scarcity of food in camp they would cut down the
small trees and climb the big ones, and rob the cupboards of the far
more provident birds. “And here,” says Powers,[19] “I will make mention
of a kind of sylvan barometer.... These acorns are stored away before
the rainy season sets in, sometimes to the amount of a half-bushel, and
when they are wetted they presently swell and start out a little. So
always, when a rainstorm is brewing, the woodpeckers fall to work with
great industry a day or two in advance and hammer them in all tight.
During the winter, therefore, whenever the woods are heard rattling with
the pecking of these busy little commissary-clerks heading up their
barrels of worms, the Indian knows a rainstorm is certain to follow.”
The Chippeway Indians, as Schoolcraft noted, account for the friendly
spirit of the robin by relating that he was once a young brave whose
father set him a task too cruel for his strength, and made him starve
too long when he had reached man’s estate and had to go through the
customary initiation-ceremonies. He turned into a robin, and said to his
father: “I shall always be the friend of man and keep near their
dwellings. I could not gratify your pride as a warrior, but I will cheer
you by songs.”
This pretty fiction is noteworthy, when one recalls the many instances
in Greek and European myths and poetry of men and women transforming
themselves into birds.
The Cherokees had an interesting story about the wren, always a
busybody. She gets up early in the morning, they say, pries into
everything, and goes around to every lodge in the settlement to get news
for the birds’ council. When a new baby is born she finds out whether it
is a boy or a girl, and reports to the council. If it is a boy the birds
sing in mournful chorus: “Alas! The whistle of the arrow! My shins will
burn,” for the birds know that when the boy grows older he will hunt
them with his blowgun and arrows, and roast them on a stick. But if the
baby is a girl they are glad, and sing: “Thanks! The sound of the
pestle! At her home I shall surely be able to scratch where she sweeps,”
because they know that after a while they will be able to pick up stray
grains where she beats the corn into meal.[104]
In the myths or folklore of the Pawnees a character in several tales, as
related by Grinnell,[105] is a little bird, smaller than a pigeon. “Its
back is blue, but its breast white, and its head is spotted. It flies
swiftly over the water, and when it sees a fish it dives down into the
water to catch it. This bird is a servant or a messenger for the
Nahurac.” The Nahurac are an assemblage of imaginary animals by whom
many wonderful things are done; and it communicates to living men their
wishes or orders, and acts as a guide when men are summoned to come or
go somewhere. But this is perilously near the purely mythical, and it is
mentioned only as an example of the widespread conception of birds as
messengers and interpreters.
I hope I may be pardoned if I add to this group of Indian bird-stories
one or two told in the Negro cabins of North Carolina, and probably
elsewhere, and written down in Volume XI of the American _Folk-Lore
Journal_, among many other tales of the out-door creatures to which the
rural darkies like to attribute human attributes, and to use as puppets
in their little comedies of animal life, which are likely to be keen
satires on humanity. The one to be quoted is a parable of how Ann Nancy
(a spider) got caught in a tight place by Mr. Turkey Buzzard, and how
she escaped, for Mr. Buzzard was going to eat her.
“But,” says the narrator, “she beg so hard, and compliment his fine
presence, and compare how he sail in the clouds while she ’bliged to
crawl in the dirt, till he that proudful and set up he feel mighty
pardonin’ spirit, and he let her go.”
Ann Nancy, however, did not enjoy the incident, and “jess study constant
how she gwine get the best of every creeter,” and particularly of the
tormenting bird.
“She knew Mr. Buzzard’s weak point am he stomach, and one day she make
it out dat she make a dining, and ’vite Mr. Buzzard an’ Miss Buzzard an’
de chillens. Ann Nancy she know how to set out a dinin’ fo’ sure, and
when dey all got sot down to the table, an’ she mighty busy passin’ the
hot coffee to Mr. Buzzard an’ the little Buzzards, she have a powerful
big pot o’ scalding water ready, and she lip it all over poor ol’ Mr.
Buzzard’s haid, and the po’ ol’ man done been baldhaided from that day.
“An’ he don’t forget on Ann Nancy, ’cause you ’serve she de onliest
creeter on the topside the earth what Mr. Buzzard don’t eat.”
LIST OF BOOKS REFERRED TO
1. HALLIDAY, WILLIAM R. Greek Divination. (London, 1913.)
2. YOUNG, MARTHA. Plantation Bird Legends. (New York, 1902.)
3. WORCESTER, DEAN. The Philippines. (New York, 1901.)
4. BRINTON, DANIEL G. The Religions of Primitive Peoples. (New York,
1897.)
5. DORSEY, J. OWEN. Report U. S. Bureau of Ethnology, 1884–5.
(Washington, 1888.)
6. MCGEE, W. J. The Seri Indians, in Report U. S. Bureau Ethnology,
1895–6, Part I.
7. SKEAT, WILLIAM W. Malay Magic. (London, 1900.)
8. GAY, JOHN. Poems. The Shepherd’s Week. (Boston, 1854.)
9. HIGGINSON, THOMAS W. Army Life in a Black Regiment. (Boston, 1870.)
10. SWANN, JAMES G. The Northwest Coast. (New York, 1857.)
11. FRIEND, HENRY. Flowers and Flower Lore. (London, 1883.)
12. SPENCE, LEWIS. Myths of the North American Indians. (London, 1914.)
13. DOUGHTY, CHARLES M. Wanderings in Arabia. (London, 1908.)
14. KEANE, JOHN F. T. Six Months in the Hejaz. (London, 1887.)
15. LAYARD, EDWARD L. The Birds of South Africa. (London, 1875–6.)
16. CANDLER, EDMUND. The Unveiling of Lhasa. (London, 1905.)
17. TYLOR, EDWARD B. Primitive Culture. (New York, 1920.)
18. KAY, CHARLES DE. Bird Gods of Ancient Europe. (New York, 1898.)
19. POWERS, STEPHEN. The Tribes of California. (Washington, 1877.)
20. MARTINENGO-CAESARESCO, COUNTESS E. L. The Place of Animals in Human
Thought. (London, 1909.)
21. BARING-GOULD, SABINE. Curious Myths of the Middle Ages. (London,
1867.)
22. BROWN, ABBIE F. Book of Saints and Kindly Beasts. (Boston, 1900.)
Consult also “Lives” of St. Francis of Assisi.
23. WARD, WILLIAM HAYES. Seal Wonders of Western Asia. (Carnegie
Institution, No. 100.)
24. BAYLEY, HAROLD. The Lost Language of Symbolism. (London, 1913.)
25. DALTON, EDWARD T. Byzantine Art and Architecture.
26. Sacred Books of the East, Pahlavi Texts, Vol. XXIV, 112.
27. BRINTON, DANIEL G. Myths of the New World. (New York, 1868.) See also
his American Hero Myths (1882).
28. OSWALD, FELIX. Zoological Sketches. (Philadelphia, 1883.)
29. ROTHERY, G. C. A B C of Heraldry. (Philadelphia, 1915.)
30. MALLET, PAUL H. Northern Antiquities. (London, 1890.)
31. GROSVENOR, EDWIN A. Constantinople. (Boston, 1895.)
32. GOLDSMITH, OLIVER. A History of the Earth and Animated Nature.
(London, 1774.)
33. BROWNE, SIR THOMAS. Inquiry into Vulgar Errors. (London, 1846.)
34. BREWER, E. C. Handbooks, particularly “Phrase and Fable.”
35. WALLACE, ALFRED RUSSEL. The Malay Archipelago. (New York, 1869.)
36. LEE, HENRY. Sea Fables Explained. (London, 1884.)
37. COOK, ARTHUR B. Zeus. (Cambridge, Eng., 1914.)
38. HULME, F. EDWARD. Natural History Lore and Legend. (London, 1895.)
39. WALKER, MARGARET C. Bird Legends and Life. (New York, 1908.)
40. WALTON, ISAAK. The Compleat Angler. (London, 100th Edition, 1888.)
41. ARISTOTLE. History of Animals. (London, Bohn, 1862.)
42. HARTING, J. E. The Ornithology of Shakespeare. (London, 1871). Compare
Thiselton-Dyer’s Folk Lore of Shakespeare.
43. HANAUER, J. E. Tales Told in Palestine. (Cincinnati, 1904.)
44. HUDSON, W. H. Birds of La Plata. (London, 1920.)
45. WHITE, GILBERT. Natural History of Selborne.
46. WILSON, ALEXANDER. North American Ornithology. (New York, 1853.)
47. SWANN, H. KIRKE. A Dictionary of English and Folk Names of British
Birds. (London, 1913.) It contains a useful bibliography, and quotes
largely from the Rev. C. Swainson’s Folk Lore and Provincial Names of
British Birds (English Dialect Society, 1886.)
48. ST. JOHNSTON, LT.-COL. T. R. The Islanders of the Pacific. (London,
1921.)
49. LYLY, JOHN. Euphues, or the Anatomy of Wit. (London, 1868.)
50. COUES, ELLIOTT. Birds of the Northwest. (Washington, 1874.)
51. CRUDEN, ALEXANDER. A Complete Concordance to the Holy Scriptures.
52. LAUFER, BERTHOLD. Bird Divination among the Thibetans. (Leiden, 1914.)
53. MILLER, LEO. In the Wilds of South America. (New York, 1918.)
54. GUBERNATIS, ANGELO DE. Zoological Mythology. (New York, 1872.)
55. NEWTON, ALFRED. Dictionary of Birds. (London, 1896.)
56. CONWAY, MONCURE D. The Wandering Jew. (New York, 1881.) See also his
Solomonic Literature (Chicago, 1899.)
57. WATTERS, JOHN J. The Birds of Ireland. (Dublin, 1853.)
58. SYKES, ELLA. Through Deserts and Oases of Central Asia. (London,
1914.)
59. SALE, GEORGE. The Koran (Alcoran of Mohammed.) (London, 1825.)
60. WILDE, LADY JANE F. Ancient Legends, Mystic Charms and Superstitions
of Ireland. (London, 1902.)
61. SMITH, HORATIO. Festivals. (New York, 1836.)
62. WENTZ, W. Y. The Fairy Faith in Celtic Countries. (London, 1911.)
63. JENNER, MRS. HENRY. Christian Symbolism. (London, 1910.)
64. O’CONNOR, VINCENT C. Travels in the Pyrenees. (London, 1913.)
65. BASSETT, FLETCHER S. Legends and Superstitions of the Sea. (Chicago,
1888.)
66. ELWORTHY, F. T. The Evil Eye. (London, 1895.)
67. GOSTLING, FRANCES M. P. Rambles about the Riviera. (New York, 1914.)
See also her books about the French chateaux, and the Bretons.
68. BALL, MRS. KATHERINE M. Decorative Motives in Oriental Art. In _Japan_
(magazine), New York, 1922.
69. DRYDEN, JOHN. Ovid’s Metamorphoses: “Transformation of Syrinx.”
(Boston, 1854.)
70. BENDIRE, MAJOR CHARLES. Life Histories of North American Birds, Vol.
I. (Washington, Smithsonian Institution, 1892.)
71. MACBAIN, ALEXANDER. Celtic Mythology and Religion. (Stirling, 1917.)
72. FRAZER, SIR J. G. Golden Bough (series). The Scapegoat (1913).
73. WATERTON, CHARLES. Essays (London, 1870). Also Wanderings in South
America. (New York, 1910.)
74. SQUIRE. Mythology of the British Isles. (London, 1905.)
75. LANCIANI, RODOLPH A. Pagan and Christian Rome. (Boston, 1893.)
76. WILLIAMS, SAMUEL W. The Middle Kingdom. (New York, 1883.)
77. MOONEY, JAMES. Report U. S. Bureau of Ethnology, Vol. XIV, 1892–3.
78. BRODERIP, W. J. Zoological Recreations. (London, 1849.)
79. NUTTALL, THOMAS. Manual of the Ornithology of the United States and
Canada. (Cambridge, 1832.)
80. HEATON, MRS. JOHN L. By-Paths in Sicily. (New York, 1920.)
81. IRBY, COL. HOWARD L. Ornithology of the Straits of Gibraltar. (London,
1875.)
82. JONES, W. Credulities Past and Present. (London, 1877.)
83. SWANTON, JOHN R. Report U. S. Bureau Ethnology, Vol. XXVI, 1904–5, p.
454.
84. HAZLITT, WILLIAM C. Dictionary of Faiths and Folklore. (London, 1895.)
85. STEVENSON, HAMILTON S. Animal Life in Africa. (London, 1912.)
86. MANAT, JAMES I. Ægean Days. (London, 1913.)
87. The Arabian Nights: Payne’s edition (London, 1901.)
88. COSTELLO, LOUIS S. The Rose Garden of Persia. (London, 1899),
including “Flowers and Birds” by Azz’ Eddin Elmocadessi, “Jamshid’s
Courtship” by Firdausi, and prose notes.
89. POLO, MARCO. Travels: Yule’s edition. (London, 1875.)
90. DAVIS, F. H. Myths and Legends of Japan. (N. Y., 1912.) Consult also
Joly, Henri L. Legend in Japanese Art. (London, 1908.)
91. LELAND, CHARLES G. Kuloskap, the Master. (New York, 1902.)
92. THISELTON-DYER, THOMAS F. English Folklore. (London, 1878.) Consult
also his Folk-lore of Plants, and his Folk Lore of Shakespeare.
93. FIRDAUSI. The Shah Nameh: Atkinson’s Translation. (London, 1886.)
94. PLUTARCH. Lives: Camillus, Romulus, Alexander, Etc.
95. Transactions of the Society of Biblical Archeology, Vol. viii, p. 80.
96. BOMBAUGH, C. C. Gleanings from the Harvest-Fields of Literature.
(Baltimore, 1873.)
97. LELAND, CHARLES G. Etruscan Roman Remains in Popular Tradition.
(London, 1892.)
98. FISKE, JOHN. Myths and Myth-Makers. (Boston, 1872.)
99. KEITH, GEORGE. Letters: in Les Bourgeis de la Compagnie du Nord-Ouest.
(Quebec, 1889.)
Footnote 100:
NIBLACK, ALBERT P. Report U. S. National Museum, 1888.
Footnote 101:
NELSON, EDWARD W. Birds of Bering Sea and the Arctic Ocean.
(Washington, 1883.)
Footnote 102:
SCHOOLCRAFT, HENRY G. Algic Researches. (New York, 1839.)
Footnote 103:
ADAMS, A. LEITH. Field and Forest Rambles. (London, 1873.)
Footnote 104:
MOONEY, JAMES. Report U. S. Bureau Ethnology, Vol. XIX, 1897–8, p.
401.
Footnote 105:
GRINNELL, GEORGE BIRD. Pawnee Hero-Stories and Folk-Tales. (New York,
1889.)
Footnote 106:
FORTIER, ALCE. Stories and Folk-Tales. (New York, 1889). Also,
Louisiana Folk-Tales. (Boston, 1885.)
Footnote 107:
JAMESON, MRS. ANNA B. History of our Lord as Exemplified in Works of
Art. (London, 1872). See also her Legends of the Monastic Orders
(1872), and her Sacred and Legendary Art (1911).
Footnote 108:
VERRALL, MARGARET DE G. Mythology and Monuments of Ancient Athens.
(London, 1890.)
Footnote 109:
DIODORUS SICULUS. Historical Library.
Footnote 110:
VILLARI, PASQUALE. The Barbarian Invasion of Italy. (New York, 1902.)
Footnote 111:
FOX-DAVIES, ARTHUR C. Complete Guide to Heraldry. (London, 1909.)
Footnote 112:
PERROT AND CHIPIEZ. History of Art in Antiquity: Vol. IV, Sardinia and
Judea.
Footnote 113:
Seal of the United States: How it was Developed and Adopted.
(Washington, Department of State, 1892.)
INDEX
Abbey, founded by birds, 269
Adjutant Stork, stone in head of, 96
Aetites, or eagle-stone, 96
Albatross, raft-nest of, 76
Alectorius, a magic stone, 95
Alectromancy, 217
American eagle, 36
Ani, or Black Witch, see _Jumbiebird_.
Anka, mythical bird, 198
Arabian mythical birds, 193, 196
Ark, messengers from the, 99
Arthur, King, becomes a raven, 163
Arvenus, legend of Lake, 78
Asbestos, a bird’s skin, 195
Augury and Auspice defined, 214
Babes in the Wood, story, 116
Bennu, a sun-symbol, 195
Bestiaries described, 58
Bird-myths, origin of, 226, 253
Bird-of-Paradise, legends of, 63
Bird-superstitions rare in United States, 7
Birds, alleged hibernation of, 89
Birds as “Openers,” 249–253
Birds as pilots, 161
Birds as spirits, 10, 25, 189
Birds associated with monks and hermits, 262–271
Birds becoming gods, 18
Birds changing into other birds, 92
Birds connected with Lightning, 242–253
Birds, fabulous, explained, 202, 208, 226
Birds, lucky and unlucky, 25
Birds of Assyrian seals, 202
Birds of the Bosphorus, 16
Birds riding on bigger birds, 81
Birds transport souls, 190
Birds, variety of accounted for, 226–241
Bittern, breast-light of, 79
Blackbird, red-winged, 239
Blackbirds blackened by Raven, 229
Blackbirds once white, 233
Bluebird, mountain, 23, 240
Blue jay, legend of, 240
Bluejay visits the Devil, 166
Brahminy duck, sacred in Thibet, 18
Buffon denies song to American birds, 78
Bulbul, Persian nightingale, 48
Butcher-bird, alleged trick of, 79
Buzzard, turkey, features of, 227, 236, 241, 284
Chickens as weather-prophets, 221
Chickens used in augury, 216, 223
Chimney swift, Josselyn’s account of, 62
Chouans, named from owl’s cry, 187
Cinamros, Persian myth, 205
Cock, alectorius of, 96
Cock, as Gaulish emblem, 44
Cock, barnyard, a sun-bird, 218
Cock, Christian legends of, 109, 151
Cock, stoned on Shrove Tuesday, 123
Cormorants, legends of, 228, 231
Cranes carry away girl, 237
Crane’s foot, origin, 170
Cranes transport small birds, 83
Cranes war with Pygmies, 94
Crocodile-bird, legend of, 60
Crossbill, Christian legend of, 113
Crow, Chinese three-legged, 172
Crow, formerly white, 233
Crow, hooded, dread of, 165
Crow in Ghost Dance, 176
Crow, omens from, 213
Crows’-feet at eyes, 170
Crows visit the Devil, 166
Cuckoos as rain-prophets, 223
Cupid of the Gaels, 3
Curassow, legend of, 170
David beguiled by a pigeon, 259
Deluges, birds connected with, 98–108
Demonic birds, 52, 205
Devil’s birds, 166
Direction, element in divination, 8, 175, 213
Divination by birds, 212–217;
trifled with, 257, 258
Dove and the Holy Grail, 137
Dove as bird of peace, 140
Dove, Christian legends of, 113, 139
Dove guides Cortez’s ship, 138
Dove instructs Pope Gregory, 133
Dove of St. Remi, 133, 137
Dove, revered in Islam, 135
Dove saves Genghis Khan, 141
Dove sent from the Ark, 101
Dove, symbol of Holy Ghost, 133, 134, 138
Dove, symbol of Ishtar, 127–132
Doves at Dodona, 130
Doves in Jewish sacrifice, 140
Doves in Solomonic legends, 259
Doves, prophetic, 5–9
Eagle, double-headed, 29, 33, 52
Eagle, emblem of St. John, 149
Eagle, golden, or war, 24, 35
Eagle, imperial, 30
Eagle-lecterns, origin of, 149
Eagle, legends of, 97
Eagle, Mexican harpy, 38
Eagle, myths about, 68, 73, 76
Eagle of Lagash, 28
Eagles, omens from, 213
Eagle-stone, or aetites, 96
Easter eggs, customs explained, 124
Eggs in mosques and churches, 54
Eskimo bird-tales, 273, 274
Fairies traced to Morrigu, 165
Falcon, symbolism of, 150
Feng-whang. See _Fung-whang_.
Fish-hawk, legend of, 80
France, popular emblem of, 41–46
Franklin compares eagle and turkey, 37
Fung-whang, Chinese myth, 207
Garuda, Hindoo myth, 206
Gaul, name explained, 41
Genghis Khan saved by owl, 186
Ghost Dance explained, 177
Goatsuckers, cries of dreaded, 6, 15
Goldfinch, Christian legend of, 113
Goose and golden eggs, 66
Goose-bone fable, 222
Goose, golden Capitoline, 255
Goose growing on trees, 64
Goose in Buddhist myth, 67
Grebe, legend of, 240
Green fowl, Mohammedan, 15
Grouse, marks on ruffed, 238
Guan, legend of, 107
Guatemala, emblem of, 39
Guillemots, origin of, 237
Gulls offend Giant, 234
Hair, superstitions about, 9
Halcyon days, meaning of, 22
Harpies, Sirens, etc., 193
Hibernation of birds, 89
Ho-ho, Japanese myth, 208
Hoopoe, legends of, 153, 250, 261
Hornbill, superstitions about, 16
Hummingbird, hibernation of, 90
Hummingbird, riding a crane, 81
Hummingbird, voice lost, 241
Indian poetic story, 275–279
Jackdaw of Rheims, 157
Jay, Canada, gives warning, 4
Jumbie-bird, Ani, or Black Witch, 189
Kamar, Persian myth, 206
Karshipta, Persian myth, 206
King, choice of by birds, 82, 206
Kingbird, riding a hawk, 81
Kingfisher, halcyon myth, 20, 234–239
Kingfisher, sent from the Ark, 102
Kiskadee, legend of, 239
Kite, Egyptian legend of, 151
Lapwing and Covenanters, 256
Lark, Laverock, funereal, 115
Legend, definition of, 254
Lightning attributed to birds, 243–253
Loon, origin of its cry, 279
Lucky birds, 25
Macaw as fire-bird, 41
Magpie, portents by, 171
Mexico, national emblem, 38
Migrating birds carried by others, 81–88
Migration to the moon, 91
Moccasin flower legend, 6
Monks, medieval and birds, 262–271
Morrigu and her crows, 165
Nightingale, myths and legends, 48, 50
Number, important in divination, 8, 171
Nuns of Whitby, 88
Odin’s ravens, 150
Omens trifled with, 257, 258
Ornithomancy, origin of, 5
Osage Indians, bird ancestry, 11
Osprey, legend of, 80
Ostrich eggs, use of, 54
Ostrich, errors pertaining to, 54
Ostrich plumes, symbolism, 153
Owein’s ravens, 162
Owl, a Baker’s daughter, 121
Owl a monarch’s daughter, 183
Owl, Athenian, 180
Owl in medieval medicine, 185
Owl once a singer, 112
Owl once an Eskimo girl, 233
Owl saves heroes, 186, 258
Owls, Christian legends of, 121
Owls, superstitions about, 181, 187, 213, 258
Oystercatcher, why blessed, 112
Palm, associated with phenix, 198
Paradise-birds, 63, 64
Peacock feathers, indicate rank, 144
Peacock, feathers, superstitions, 148
Peacock, saves Chinese general, 187
Peacocks, legends of, 141–147
Pelican, errors pertaining to, 58
Pelican, Seri ancestor, 11
Pelican, symbolism of, 147
Pharaoh’s chicken, 34
Pheasant, Argus, painted, 233
Phenix as a Christian symbol, 196
Phenix described, 191
Pigeons in church feasts, 125
Pigeons of Venice, 125
Pigeon shrine near Yarkand, 136
Polynesian bird-gods, 19
Quails, Israelitish legend, 93
Quetzal-bird, 39
Rabbit and Easter eggs, 124
Rain-birds described, 223
Rara avis (swan), 46
Raven as culture-hero, 228–234
Raven, characteristics of, 134
Raven, Dickens’s “Grip,” 156
Raven dresses the birds, 228
Raven feeds Elijah, 158
Raven feeds hermits, 164
Raven flag of Danes, 159
Raven, ghostly, 164
Raven, Mosaic view of, 158
Raven, myths concerning, 72, 105, 248
Raven once white, 168, 232
Raven, portents by, 169, 173, 213
Raven saves body of St. Vincent, 164
Raven sent from the Ark, 100
Raven’s Hill and Barbarossa, 163
Ravens, Odin’s messengers, 150
Redbreast, Christian legends of, 114
Redbreast covers corpses, 116
Redpoll, bringing fire, 274
Rhea, errors concerning, 55
Robin, American, singing, 282
Robin, European. See _Redbreast_.
Roc (Rukh), Sinbad’s discovery, 200
Sacred birds explained, 16, 24
Sagehen, Paiute story of, 106
Salamander as a bird, 196
Scapegoats among birds, 25
Scarlet bird of Taoists, 207
Schamir, Solomonic legend, 249
Seal of United States, 36
Semiramis, story of, 128
Sentinel-birds, stories of, 254, 256
Seven Whistlers, 13, 89
Shrike, errors regarding, 79
Shrove Tuesday customs, 123
Simurgh, Persian myth, 205
Smell, sense in birds, 75
Snow-owl blackens raven, 232
Souls brought by birds, 12
Souls carried away by birds, 13, 139, 148
Sparrow in Christian legends, 112
Speech by birds, 3, 10, 13
Stones possessed by birds, 95
Stork, as a migrant, 92
Stork, legends of, 112, 153
Stymphalia, birds of, 192, 194
Swallow, Eskimo origin of, 238
Swallow in Christian legends, 112
Swallow, omens from, 25, 213, 218
Swallow restores blindness, 96
Swan, black (rara avis), 47
Swan, death song, 76
Swan, omens from, 213
Symplegades, legend of, 131
Thibetan divination, 174
Thunder-birds described, 243–248, 281
Thunder Cape, name explained, 245
Trochilus legend, 60
Trogon, or quetzal-bird, 39
Trumpeter, legends of, 107, 239
Tulare, legend of lake, 108
Turkey, Franklin’s preference, 37
Turkey, Indian legend of, 106
Vulture, baldness explained, 227, 236, 241
Vulture, omens from, 213
Vulture revered in Egypt, 151
Vultures, Persian, 207
Vulture, Turkey. See _Buzzard_.
Wagtail, Ainu legend of, 103
War-eagle, American Indian, 35
Weathercocks explained, 151
Weather prognostics by birds, 217, 219, 282
Whippoorwill as a prophet, 5, 6
Winds as birds, 203, 206, 249
Woodpecker, Californian, 281
Woodpecker, magical powers of, 250
Woodpecker, redheaded, 23, 106, 235, 241
Wren, Cherokee story of, 282
Wren, hunting of in Ireland, 118
Yel, culture-hero, 230
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TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES
1. P. 229, changed “l’epervier” to “l’épervier”.
2. Silently corrected typographical errors and variations in spelling.
3. Retained anachronistic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings as
printed.
4. Footnotes have been re-indexed using letters.
5. Enclosed italics font in _underscores_.