The chief subject of this truthful history is a jet-black, middle-aged
bird, commonly known in England as a rook, but nevertheless a notable
specimen of the crow family.
In his babyhood he was, in the language of the ancient chroniclers,
grievously hurt and wounded full sore, and particularly so in the left
wing. He was so badly disabled that he had to forego the pleasure of
flying through the air, and was obliged to content himself as best he
could with trudging about on the rough surface of our common mother
earth.
In his sad plight, with the maimed wing dragging painfully along, he
chanced to pass the window of a _sanctum_ belonging to and occupied by a
charming old English gentleman, a perfect example of the old school,
learned, benevolent, and very fond of animals and feathered pets. No one
can tell what chance it was that brought the unhappy and wounded young
rook to the window of this good man. But possibly it was a real
inspiration on the part of the young bird. Toby was wet, weary, wounded,
and hungry, and as he looked in upon the cheerful wood fire and the
kindly face of the master of the house, his longing expression was met
with a raising of the window and an invitation to walk in to a breakfast
of corn and meal that had been hastily prepared for him. He gazed and
thought, and thought and gazed, upon the joys within and still he
doubted; but, finally, appetite and curiosity got the better of his
discretion, and, as he walked cautiously in, the window was closed
behind him. So the wounded waif entered upon a new life.
At first he was a little shy and cautious, and it took considerable time
for him to convince himself that his protector was his friend. After a
few weeks, however, he realized the value of his new position, and
consented to the establishment of intimate relations. In fact, Toby
became so attached to his master, and so affectionate, that he was not
happy out of his presence.
During the first month of his captivity, his wounded wing was bound
close to his body for the purpose of giving the fractured bone an
opportunity to unite, and during most of that time he would walk by his
master’s side, cawing and looking up into his face as if asking for
recognition. When the wing got well, and his ability to fly was
re-established, he would anticipate the direction of the promenades by
flying in advance from shrub to bush, alighting and awaiting the arrival
of his master.
The most singular part of Toby’s domestication was his exclusive loyalty
to a single person. He had but one intimate friend, and to him his
loyalty was intense. He would tolerate the presence of other members of
the household, but when strangers appeared he was decidedly offish, and
scolded until they disappeared.
Three times a day Toby is decidedly funny, and goes through a comical
performance. In his master’s _sanctum_ there is a contrivance which, on
a small scale, resembles the old New England well-pole. At one end,
which rests upon the floor, Toby commences his ascent with a great
flapping of wings and uproarious cawing. When he arrives at the upper
end of the pole, some eight or nine feet from the floor, it falls and
lands him upon a platform, beside a plate containing his food. This
climbing up the pole precedes each meal, and takes place punctually at
the same hour and minute of each day.
In the spring of 1890 Toby was tempted from his loyalty, and flew off
with a marauding flock of his kind. He remained away all summer. He was
missed but not mourned, for his master felt certain he would return;
and, sure enough, one bleak, cold morning in November, Toby was found
looking longingly into the room where he had first seen his good master.
The window was opened, he walked in and mounted his pole, and after him
came a companion, a meek, modest, and timid young rook, more confiding
than Toby, and differing from him in many other respects. He, too, was
duly adopted, and was christened Jocko. He was easily domesticated, and
soon became a part of the _entourage_ of one of the finest old
Bedfordshire manorial homes.
With age Toby has taken on quite an amount of dignity. He is neither so
noisy nor so companionable as formerly, but is more staid and useful.
One of his favorite resting places, where he enjoys his after breakfast
contemplations and his afternoon siestas, is among the branches of a
fine old English oak, whose protecting shades, in the far-off past, were
the scene of the stolen love-meetings of Amy Wentworth and the
profligate Duke of Monmouth.
Neither of these knowing birds has been able to understand the mystery
of a looking-glass. They spend many hours of patient investigation
before a mirror in their master’s room, but all to no purpose, for the
puzzle seems to remain as great as ever. They usually walk directly up
to it, and betray great surprise when they find two other rooks
advancing to meet them. For a while they remain silent and motionless,
looking at the strangers, and waiting, apparently, for some sign of
recognition. Then they go through a considerable flapping of wings and
indulge in numerous caws, but after long waiting for an audible response
they give up the useless effort, only to return next day as eager as
ever to solve the mystery.
The older bird and his admiring junior are perfectly contented with
their home, and never leave it. They often look out from their perches
upon various wandering flocks of vagrant rooks, but are never tempted to
new adventures. The old fellow is very wise. Like a fat old
office-holder, he knows enough to appreciate a sinecure in which the
emoluments are liberal and the service nominal. His devoted follower
never falters in his dutiful imitation of his benefactor.
Toby proves by his actions that he appreciates the advantages of the
situation, and in his simple way makes some return for the pleasures he
enjoys. During a considerable portion of the pleasant days of the year
he is in reality the watchman upon the tower, ever on the outlook to
give notice of the approach of visitors to his castle, and no one can
intrude upon the premises under his self-appointed watchmanship without
exciting vigorous caws, which are enthusiastically reinforced by those
of his faithful subordinate. Aside from his affectionate devotion to his
master, displayed as often as occasion permits, this duty of “chief
watchman of the castle” is Toby’s most substantial return for favors
received!
In a letter of last May, the master wrote: “My two crows are sitting on
chairs close to me, and cawing to me that it is time for me to let them
out of the window, so I must obey.” This quotation gives but a faint
intimation of the exceptionally friendly relations existing between
these devoted friends. Blessed are the birds that can inspire such
affection in the heart of a noble old man, and doubly blessed is he who
is the object of such loving appreciation. Long may they all live to
enjoy the fulness of their mutual attachments!
This brief sketch is not intended for an amusing story. It is only a
narration of facts in support of an often repeated theory, viz: that the
humblest creatures are worthy of our tender consideration, and, when
properly treated, will make pleasing returns for the affection we may
bestow upon them.