while the other flamingoes walked indignantly across the grass plot,
tying their necks into knots because they felt they were ignored, the
Equatorial bird croaked harshly, in fashion peculiar to flamingoes,
rubbed one of his webbed feet with his beak and renewed his story. The
wigeon drake came up quietly to join the audience, and later a stray
pochard joined the little group, but nobody else was interested.
"When my mother set me from the egg by giving it a little tap," began
the Flamingo, "I stood up in the nest and had a good look round me. On
all sides, as far as my eye could see, there were nests similar to the
one that held me, just mounds of mud and fibre, scraped up along the
edge of the lake and dried by the sun. Some held one, and others held
two, rounded eggs, quite white and rather rough. Others held baby
flamingoes, with no feathers to speak of, nothing more than some stubbly
down that was dull white or brown. All had straight bills; the beautiful
curve that you see now belongs, like the pink plumage, to maturer
growth. The feathers of the mother birds were at their worst just then,
very dull and dingy.
"I could not recall much of those early days, even if I tried hard. I
remember that my mother would leave me from time to time to go down to
the lake to fish for me; all the mother birds would go together, and
then we little ones would stand up on the edge of the nest and sometimes
tumble over it. Some babies, not more than a few days old, would walk
boldly to the edge of the lake and start swimming; it came quite easy to
them, far more easy than the flying that had to be mastered later on.
When food was found the mother birds would come back and feed us, and
tell us stories of the world lying far beyond our ken, the world that
men live in. My mother told me how she and my father worked to make the
nest, piling the soft mud up with feet and bill, and moulding it into
shape. She told me that flamingoes live together, and that only bad
characters are driven from the pack and forced to live the solitary
life.
"Nearly a month had been required to hatch me from the egg, and I had
all the summer to grow in, for the older birds would soon moult, and
while they were moulting there could be no flying. 'As soon as we have
our new autumn plumage,' said my mother, 'you will start your flying
lessons.' And as the days passed, she showed me great flocks of other
birds flying overhead, the white egrets, the spurred geese in their
black and white dress, the avocets and ibises. At times the hippopotamus
trumpeted in the marsh, or a lion roared on the plain, or we heard the
wail of a hyæna in the hours of deepest darkness; but there were no
other noises to disturb us, and never a danger came our way. The leaders
of the flamingo pack had chosen an oasis cut off from the other fertile
region by miles of summer-made desert. I learned that when the autumn
rains came all the land would blossom and bud once more, and be
accessible to man and beast; but by that time we young birds were to be
flyers, and the masters of the pack would guide us to safety.
"'We are fortunate birds indeed,' said my mother; 'we have beauty and
well-ordered lives, we are related to the storks and herons, on the one
hand, and the geese tribes on the other; so in birdland we are sure of a
welcome wherever we go. We can walk, swim or fly, according to our own
inclination; our feet are webbed, our necks are the most flexible things
in birdland; we are very peaceful, even in the mating season, and our
eyesight is quite remarkable. We live in the least accessible parts of
the world, and the most cunning hunter is baffled by our shyness. Some
of us stand as high as a tall man, and measure four feet from bill to
tail. These are the measurements of birds that cannot possibly be
overlooked.'"
The Flamingo repeated these phrases with evident pleasure, and drew
himself up to his full height in order to show that when his neck was
straight, and he cared to stand erect, he cut a very fine figure. To be
sure he looked a little ridiculous, with his absurdly thin legs and
neck, but he did not know this, and there was nobody to tell him.
"As the summer grew," continued the Flamingo, "the sun's heat reduced
the waters of the lagoon and made the little plateau that held our nest
quite dry and hard. Then we youngsters would go off for little journeys
on our own account, sometimes to the water for food, at other times
towards the plains. We must have looked a curious company, and you would
not have known us for flamingoes; our plumage was now white, with a
little brown shading here and there, while our bills were still nearly
straight. Had we been in an enemy's country, as we were so often in the
later days, we must have fared badly in those late summer months, for we
were very awkward and helpless; we could not have defended ourselves
against anything, and our parents were losing their feathers, and could
hardly fly at all. Then I appreciated the wisdom of the leaders, who had
chosen for us a part of the country that was unknown to nearly all other
living creatures, and possessed splendid food supplies. A few flocks of
birds related to us would rest and feed on the lagoon for an hour or
two, and then would be up and away, while sometimes the only visitor was
the little bird that walks upon the water,[1] or the little warblers
that sang among the reeds all day.
"By the time my feathers had grown, and the moult of the parent birds
had brought back a wonderful set of bright pink feathers, I was face to
face with the task of my life, learning to fly. That is difficult enough
at all times and among all birds, but a very special trouble comes to a
young flamingo, because his own parents are not very good at flight.
Even when we are fully developed we rise with difficulty; and when we
are learning, and are apt to tumble about, we get bad bruises and nasty
falls, because our parents cannot move quickly enough to help us. Some
young birds were permanently injured, and could never fly properly;
others fared even worse, and died of their injuries, and for some weeks
our little colony was happy no longer. The young ones complained, the
old ones scolded, and it was impossible to make allowance for weaklings.
Those that could not fly by the time the waters rose would be left
behind. That was the order, and it made us do our best.
"One morning the plover was heard calling to us at daybreak to say that
the floods were coming down. The leader sounded the order for departure,
and in a few moments we were on the wing in a wedge formation, speeding
in search of fresh pasture grounds. It was a difficult journey, and we
dropped a few weaklings by the way. When the heat became intense, we
were halted by the side of a lake, and there we clustered for hours,
shading our heads under our wings. The surface of the water was turned
crimson by the strong light on the pink feathers of the grown-up birds.
"Those of us who did not find room on the lake stood round the sides,
generally on one leg, thrust our heads and part of our neck under the
most convenient wing, and slept or rested until the elder birds called
to us to resume our places. Then the great wedge swept on, past forest
and clearing and marsh land to another lagoon where we settled for our
evening meal, very tired and stiff, but delighted to find that once we
were on our wings we could move with ease. We were now in more open
country; the break-up of the drought had scattered birds and beasts
everywhere. Until the rain came they had kept in the water-courses and
river-beds, now they could go where they pleased. Where we rested for
the night there was so much noise that for all my fatigue I found it
hard to sleep. If we moved and opened our eyes the glitter of the
fire-flies was so bright and fascinating that it was hard to turn from
them; the frogs, whose friends or relations or play-fellows we had
eaten, protested all night long at the top of their voices; grasshoppers
and mosquitoes sang, herons croaked and small birds held concerts. This
was disturbing enough, but when an elephant pack thundered along towards
the forest and the hippopotamus challenged them from the marshes only a
few hundred yards away, you can imagine that sleep was not easy, and
those of us that were still young and inexperienced would have flown
away if we had known of a quieter resting-place. In a little time we
learned to rely upon our leaders, to understand that the air held roads
and well-marked tracks for them, that they could guide us, if not with
perfect safety, at least with far more certainty and definite intention
than we gave them credit for.
"Sometimes we camped in the neighbourhood of salt water that the flood
had brought down, but this made no difference to our comfort. We could
fish in salt water as well as in fresh, and our food--water plants,
grubs, insects and small reptiles--was always plentiful. Sometimes,
towards evening, when we were just settling for the night, there would
be a rush for river or marsh. Deer of all shapes and sizes, zebras,
sometimes lions or leopards, would come to drink, and though they may
have had no designs upon us, our nerves could not stand the strain of
their company. However tired we might be we would rise. Those who went
up first would wheel round and round in a circle that grew larger and
larger, until at last every bird was on the wing and we were off again
through the quick falling twilight, forced to come to ground again where
best we could. Then the night would be very restless and disturbed, for
any small alarm would send nervous birds fluttering up into the
darkness, only to come down again at the sound of the leader's cry that
all was well.
"If I were to tell you of the strange sights that I have seen,"
continued the Flamingo, after pausing a moment to sample a little of the
mud in the pond, "you would be surprised, but it would take too long. I
have seen an army of storks being ranged in close formation to stay the
advance of an army of locusts. I have seen beasts of prey drinking side
by side with harmless antelopes, and not seeking to molest them. I have
seen the rhinoceros lying asleep in the grass in the hunters' country,
quite at his ease, because his faithful attendant, the rhinoceros bird,
has been perched on his broad back keeping watch for him. When he rises
up the birds will often fly away to a tree, for they know he can look
after himself, but when he rests they settle down upon him once again.
"I have seen the baby beasts of marsh and forest, the lion cubs and the
hippopotamus calves. I have watched the paths of hunters and hunted in
lands where the black man has never seen white folk, and goes about in
fear of the animals that ravage his gardens, destroy his cattle, and
kill him, too, if they can. And by the time I had seen all these sights
I knew something of the world we live in; the spring had come again, and
our leaders were bringing us back by forced marches to the lagoon where
I was born.
"When we were back in the old familiar spot there were grave discussions
about the nests. None of us wished to build new nests if the old ones
would do, but some collections of nests were held to be in bad
condition, and in one of these blocks my mother's nest was set. So those
who had to rebuild moved down the edge of the lagoon, and were soon busy
scraping up mud and rushes. I helped a little, but I did not mate. My
feathers were only beginning to turn pink, my bill had hardly acquired a
proper curve, and no flamingo is satisfied with his appearance until his
beak is longer than his head. I was too young to find a companion, and
stayed happily enough by the new nest, or waded into the lagoon with
unattached companions of my own year, and had a pleasant, idle time.
"Unfortunately, the nesting season was a failure in our district. The
other nesting areas did well enough, but some snakes attacked ours,
capturing a number of eggs and some of the first hatched birds. There
was no delay. We left the nests and started away to another water, a
separate pack. The rest of the old pack was busy rearing young, the
snakes did not attack them, so they stayed and we went, under the
guidance of a very old bird who was one of the best leaders in the
flamingo community.
"When we arrived at a safe place, where water and mud were to be found
in abundance, it was too late to build nests. A few birds laid late eggs
on the ground, but nothing was hatched, and we moped till moulting time
and through it with never a newborn bird in our company. I moulted and
secured a new crop of feathers, not very bright, not to be compared with
the plumage of birds that were seven years old or more, but still much
better than the dingy white and dull brown feathers with which I had
been forced to content myself in times past. I found myself better able
to fly, and though I have never been quick to rise in the air and get
away, I have never known fatigue, and, indeed, in the following spring,
when I proposed to a charming bird of my own age whose plumage was not
quite so glossy as my own, I was able to fascinate her by my graceful
movements in the air, by the ease with which I turned and twisted with
wings spread, neck thrust straight out, and feet stretching as far
behind me as they could go. My first attempt at nest-making was not
altogether a success--our one egg addled--but perhaps it was as well. We
were very young and might have made bad parents."
He paused, and sought for consolation in the depths of the muddy water.
"And then?" queried the Swan.
"The autumn brought the hunting man," said the Flamingo sadly, "and
that's why I'm here. They've clipped my wings; I can't fly. The air is
chill, and cold, and dirty. I'll never grow good plumage again. I know
there is food enough and shelter for bad weather, and companionship of a
kind, but I want the African sun, and the tropical streams and forests,
and the wild free life, and----"
"It's no good, my friend," interrupted the Swan. "You want too much. Be
satisfied that you are still alive. Better be a live flamingo in
Regent's Park than a dead one in Central Africa."
So saying he sailed away to the middle of the pond. The wigeon followed.
But the Flamingo, standing on one leg, looked steadily through the misty
air as though he could see in the far distance the land of his heart's
desire.
-----
Footnote 1:
Microparra capensis.
HOB, THE FERRET
If you left the lane for the footpath that passes along the wood-side,
you could see the keeper's cottage in a large clearing away to the
right. In the days that belong to this story it was a pretty place,
thatched and creeper-covered, with a modest outhouse, one or two sheds,
and some ground that had been reclaimed from the wood when the
eighteenth century was still young. The flower-garden held half a dozen
beehives, and there was a small paddock where a few pheasants were
raised under domestic hens. In a corner of the paddock stood a useful
ferret-hutch, standing a little above the ground, with sloping runs from
the entrances to a little piece of the meadow round the hutch, fenced
round with posts and wire-netting about a foot high. A large elm tree
stood by the side of the enclosure, and one of its branches was used by
the old keeper as his vermin larder. Here one saw stoats, weasels,
hedgehogs, and sometimes a polecat, together with magpies, hawks, and,
one regrets to add, an owl. As soon as the old man had trapped or shot
one of his real or fancied enemies, its dead body was nailed to the
branch and, in that corner of a southern county, traps were seldom idle
or empty.
Some week or ten days before Hob was born, the room in the hutch where
his mother slept was carefully cleaned, supplied with a new hay bed, and
closed. Hob entered the world in complete darkness in company with four
brothers and sisters. Not only was their room void of light, but their
eyes were closed. Their mother fed and tended them very jealously. Had
her sleeping-place been entered in the first month of their life, while
they were sightless and helpless, their mother would have killed them,
for that is ferret law. In those early days they were particularly ugly,
and would squeak faintly as though to emphasise their distaste for their
surroundings; but their mother found plenty of fresh milk or porridge
waiting for her when she went out to eat in the apartment next her hut,
together with odd luxuries in the shape of freshly killed mice or rats,
or young game birds and chickens that had met an untimely death. So the
babies were bound to thrive. One fine June morning the old keeper found
them in the ferret's dining-room lapping milk by their mother's side.
Thereupon he opened the part of the hutch that had been closed down so
long, cleaned it thoroughly, and put in a fresh bed, so that Hob and his
brethren returned to a clean home and proceeded to live their life in
earnest. Within a week they were playing for the greater part of the day
in the enclosure round their hutch, and this early exercise made them
strong and active, so that none of the litter moped and pined and died,
as baby ferrets will when they are badly housed and have no place for
exercise. They still slept in their old room, but paid small heed to
their mother, who, for her part, seemed to have lost the most of her
care for them. When the youngsters were not racing about, playful as fox
cubs, they were eating diligently, and in those days they never failed
to receive three meals. Milk diet was their usual fare, but now and
again their master would tie a piece of fresh meat in some form to the
wooden stake in the middle of their playground, and they would attack
together, each trying in vain to carry it off to the hutch to devour at
leisure.
When they were three months old, Hob's brothers and sisters were taken
away and sent in a neat box to another county in response to an
advertisement, and Hob owed his immunity from travel to the fact that he
was the best of the litter, and was destined for ferreting on the home
farm. He was transferred to another hutch, where he lived by himself;
but when he had his first sporting day, it was in his mother's company.
He never forgot the morning, for it brought experiences that were new
and unpleasant. In the first place he had no breakfast, though he had
been ready for it soon after daylight. Secondly he was muzzled, and this
was an indignity to which he never learned to submit without a struggle.
The muzzling was done with strong thread that was tied in slip knots,
and went round the neck and over the mouth in very painful fashion. Most
people would have hesitated to muzzle a ferret that had never been used,
but the keeper was a very old-fashioned person, and held that the lesson
of restraint could not be learned too soon. When he had made Hob
perfectly helpless in the fashion hinted at, he lowered him into a bag
full of straw, where his mother, whose mouth, like Jericho of old, was
straightway shut up, was already burrowing. Then the old man shouldered
the sack, picked up a ditching-shovel and, whistling his retriever, set
out to accompany one of the sons of the house to a bank where rabbits
had been playing havoc with some green corn.
The bank was sandy and had a high slope, so it could be attacked at any
time of year; and when the mother ferret started in very confidently,
Hob followed her down the dark passage to a point where it branched out.
There he left her and went forward alone, for he scented a familiar
odour. He knew the smell of rabbit very well, and found the taste was
pleasant; he required no teaching to tell him there were rabbits in the
burrow, and that they were within reach. Darkness could not baffle him,
and though the path he followed soon branched in several directions, he
did not hesitate, but chose one that brought him suddenly to his quarry.
At the sight of her enemy, Bunny bolted incontinently and sought the
outer air; there was a muffled report a moment later, and Race the
retriever went down to the bottom of the bank and picked her up dead as
mutton, so cleanly shot behind the ears that she may be said to have
died painlessly.
Of these matters Hob knew nothing; he was following his quarry more
slowly, and by the mouth of the hole he put up another rabbit that
bolted down the bank before he could reach it. He peeped out of the
opening, watched the headlong rush, heard the gun go off again, and saw
the runner turn a somersault. Then his master came forward, untied the
muzzle, and rewarded him with a piece of newly killed rabbit. When he
had eaten his fill he was put back into the bag, where he went to sleep,
and knew no more until he woke to find himself being transferred to his
hutch. His mother, who had done a hard morning's work, received very
careful treatment, her feet being bathed in warm water; but Hob, who had
not worked long, needed nothing more than rest to restore him to his
usual activity.
Though he did not know it, Hob had earned golden opinions already; he
had shown all the instincts of the polecat, of which fierce animal a
ferret is no more than a domesticated species. So he was taken out from
time to time through the summer, his hours of service being gradually
lengthened, and he was always rewarded with part of a fresh kill. So
keen was his hunting instinct that when he did not get his breakfast, he
understood the reason for its absence and would run round the hutch in a
state of great excitement when he heard his master's approach. By the
time summer and autumn had passed and the thick growths had died down
from the hedgerows, leaving the burrows plainly to be seen, Hob was as
reliable a ferret as ever bolted rabbit. He would run along a hedge,
testing every hole in turn, climbing up and down and missing nothing. If
he disregarded an earth, there was no need to worry about it--Bunny was
not at home. If, on the other had, after a moment's hesitation, he ran
in, the appearance of a rabbit was usually a matter of moments. He never
made a mistake, and if rabbits would not bolt, the weather rather than
the ferret was to blame.
Winter brought Hob his first experience of any note, and gave him his
first intimate knowledge of wild life. Snow had fallen heavily, making
the landscape one vast study in white, and leaving tell-tale tracks of
bird and beast all over the snow. It was easy enough to see where the
rabbits were living, even if you did not come upon them sitting outside
their burrows and staring rather disconsolately across the land. It
chanced at the time that two of the younger sons of the house, only
lately promoted to the unrestricted use of 28-bore guns, decided to go
ferreting, and took Hob with them. One was quite certain that he
understood how a muzzle was put on, but his belief in his own
intelligence was scarcely justified, and before Hob had gone to earth
five minutes he had worked the objectionable restriction from his jaws,
and celebrated the event by killing his first rabbit. He stayed awhile
to enjoy a meal that was as pleasant as it was unexpected, and then
proceeded to see what was happening in the outer world. His path led him
to peep out from a hole under the roots of a beech tree. A net had been
placed there by the young amateurs, who were compelled by the nature of
the ground to face the other way; but one turned round in time to see
Hob, quite free from a muzzle, regarding him with serious interest. He
made an effort to pick the ferret up, but being unskilled, forgot to use
the dead rabbit that chanced to lie beyond the net as a lure, and
instead of seizing Hob with a firm, steady grasp, snatched at him
nervously. Very disgusted, the ferret made a snap at the uncertain
fingers, returned to the earth, found the dead rabbit that lay there,
and made another heavy meal. Then, feeling quite tired, he laid himself
up against his victim's warm fur and slept peacefully. The ferret that
came down on a line to inquire after him reported progress, but failed
either to wake Hob up or to reach the rabbit lying in an end-hole behind
him, and as digging operations were impossible because of the thick
roots, the sportsmen returned disconsolate. Even then, had they blocked
up all the exits, they might have recovered their ferret with the next
day; but they did no more than net the ones they could see, and it was
by the small one they had overlooked that Hob entered the world at large
on the following morning.