I
HOW MANY of us have ever got to know a wild animal? I do not mean merely
to meet with one once or twice, or to have one in a cage, but to really
know it for a long time while it is wild, and to get an insight into its
life and history. The trouble usually is to know one creature from his
fellow. One fox or crow is so much like another that we cannot be sure
that it really is the same next time we meet. But once in awhile there
arises an animal who is stronger or wiser than his fellow, who becomes a
great leader, who is, as we would say, a genius, and if he is bigger, or
has some mark by which men can know him, he soon becomes famous in his
country, and shows us that the life of a wild animal may be far more
interesting and exciting than that of many human beings.
Of this class were Courtant, the bob-tailed wolf that terrorized
the whole city of Paris for about ten years in the beginning of the
fourteenth century; Clubfoot, the lame grizzly bear that left such
a terrific record in the San Joaquin Valley of California; Lobo, the
king-wolf of New Mexico, that killed a cow every day for five years,
and the Seonee panther that in less than two years killed nearly three
hundred human beings--and such also was Silverspot, whose history, so
far as I could learn it, I shall now briefly tell.
Silverspot was simply a wise old crow; his name was given because of
the silvery white spot that was like a nickel, stuck on his right side,
between the eye and the bill, and it was owing to this spot that I was
able to know him from the other crows, and put together the parts of his
history that came to my knowledge.
Crows are, as you must know, our most intelligent birds.--'Wise as an
old crow' did not become a saying without good reason. Crows know the
value of organization, and are as well drilled as soldiers--very much
better than some soldiers, in fact, for crows are always on duty, always
at war, and always dependent on each other for life and safety. Their
leaders not only are the oldest and wisest of the band, but also the
strongest and bravest, for they must be ready at any time with sheer
force to put down an upstart or a rebel. The rank and file are the
youngsters and the crows without special gifts.
Old Silverspot was the leader of a large band of crows that made
their headquarters near Toronto, Canada, in Castle Frank, which is a
pine-clad hill on the northeast edge of the city. This band numbered
about two hundred, and for reasons that I never understood did not
increase. In mild winters they stayed along the Niagara River; in cold
winters they went much farther south. But each year in the last week of
February, Old Silverspot would muster his followers and boldly cross the
forty miles of open water that lies between Toronto and Niagara; not,
however, in a straight line would he go, but always in a curve to
the west, whereby he kept in sight of the familiar landmark of Dundas
Mountain, until the pine-clad hill itself came in view. Each year he
came with his troop, and for about six weeks took up his abode on
the hill. Each morning thereafter the crows set out in three bands to
forage. One band went southeast to Ashbridge's Bay. One went north up
the Don, and one, the largest, went northwestward up the ravine. The
last, Silverspot led in person. Who led the others I never found out.
On calm mornings they flew high and straight away. But when it was
windy the band flew low, and followed the ravine for shelter. My windows
overlooked the ravine, and it was thus that in 1885 I first noticed this
old crow. I was a newcomer in the neighborhood, but an old resident
said to me then "that there old crow has been a-flying up and down this
ravine for more than twenty years." My chances to watch were in the
ravine, and Silverspot doggedly clinging to the old route, though now
it was edged with houses and spanned by bridges, became a very familiar
acquaintance. Twice each day in March and part of April, then again
in the late summer and the fall, he passed and repassed, and gave me
chances to see his movements, and hear his orders to his bands, and so,
little by little, opened my eyes to the fact that the crows, though a
little people, are of great wit, a race of birds with a language and a
social system that is wonderfully human in many of its chief points, and
in some is better carried out than our own.
One windy day I stood on the high bridge across the ravine, as the old
crow, heading his long, straggling troop, came flying down homeward.
Half a mile away I could hear the contented 'All's well, come right
along!' as we should say, or as he put it, and as also his lieutenant
echoed it at the rear of the band. They were flying very low to be out
of the wind, and would have to rise a little to clear the bridge on
which I was. Silverspot saw me standing there, and as I was closely
watching him he didn't like it. He checked his flight and called out,
'Be on your guard,' and rose much higher in the air. Then seeing that I
was not armed he flew over my head about twenty feet, and his followers
in turn did the same, dipping again to the old level when past the
bridge.
Next day I was at the same place, and as the crows came near I raised my
walking stick and pointed it at them. The old fellow at once cried out
'Danger,' and rose fifty feet higher than before. Seeing that it was not
a gun, he ventured to fly over. But on the third day I took with me a
gun, and at once he cried out, 'Great danger--a gun.' His lieutenant
repeated the cry, and every crow in the troop began to tower and scatter
from the rest, till they were far above gun shot, and so passed safely
over, coming down again to the shelter of the valley when well beyond
reach. Another time, as the long, straggling troop came down the valley,
a red-tailed hawk alighted on a tree close by their intended route. The
leader cried out, 'Hawk, hawk,' and stayed his flight, as did each crow
on nearing him, until all were massed in a solid body. Then, no longer
fearing the hawk, they passed on. But a quarter of a mile farther on
a man with a gun appeared below, and the cry, 'Great danger--a gun,
a--gun; scatter fur your lives,' at once caused them to scatter widely
and tower till far beyond range. Many others of his words of command I
learned in the course of my long acquaintance, and found that sometimes
a very little difference in the sound makes a very great difference in
meaning. Thus while No. 5 means hawk, or any large, dangerous bird, this
means 'wheel around,' evidently a combination of No. 5, whose root idea
is danger, and of No. 4, whose root idea is retreat, and this again is a
mere 'good day,' to a far away comrade. This is usually addressed to the
ranks and means 'attention.'
Early in April there began to be great doings among the crows. Some new
cause of excitement seemed to have come on them. They spent half the
day among the pines, instead of foraging from dawn till dark. Pairs
and trios might be seen chasing each other, and from time to time they
showed off in various feats of flight. A favorite sport was to dart down
suddenly from a great height toward some perching crow, and just before
touching it to turn at a hairbreadth and rebound in the air so fast
that the wings of the swooper whirred with a sound like distant thunder.
Sometimes one crow would lower his head, raise every feather, and coming
close to another would gurgle out a long note like. What did it all
mean? I soon learned. They were making love and pairing off. The males
were showing off their wing powers and their voices to the lady crows.
And they must have been highly appreciated, for by the middle of April
all had mated and had scattered over the country for their honeymoon,
leaving the sombre old pines of Castle Frank deserted and silent.