_Do Birds Have a Language?_
This is a question I have to answer, and I am fully prepared to say
“Yes; yes, I know they do.” As proof of this statement, one could shut
me in and blindfold me, and if I can hear the wild geese I will tell you
a certain portion of their actions, while if I were to hear a Chinaman
talking I wouldn’t know whether it was cleaned windows, dirty laundry,
or ham and eggs he wanted me to have.
One evening last spring, after the wild geese had gone to the lake, I
strolled back to the north pond to visit a pair of my own geese, but
could not find them, nor would they answer my call. I came to the
conclusion they had gotten out, and as I have had this pair thirteen
years I became quite anxious. Daylight the next morning found me over
half a mile north of the pond, watching and listening, to find trace of
them. I finally saw hundreds of them coming from the lake and alighting
all around the premises, mostly in the pond mentioned, and the air was
continually echoing with their honks. Then I heard the voice of the
gander I was looking for. I knew the tone, for I went straight to it,
and found him guarding a nest with one egg in it. This explained to me
why he did not answer the night before. Yes, I was over half a mile away
when I heard and knew his voice from the thousands of others. And before
you doubt my word, I want to ask you: If you were in a city of millions
of people and on going to the telephone a voice you had been acquainted
with for thirteen years or the voice of one of your own household came
tingling into your ear, would you not know this voice? This question is
just as reasonable.
On October 10th, 1917, as we were eating breakfast, six geese dropped on
the pond. I left my porridge and went to the door and called “Chuckie!
Chuckie! Chuckie!” The old gander raised his head and answered loudly.
So I went to the barn and got twelve ears of corn, came back and went
into the park where they were. When within about fifty feet I stopped
and had a good look at them. Then, just to see what they would do, I
threw an ear of corn at the old gander. The four young at once jumped in
the air, but he just said “A-a-h! A-a-h!” and all dropped down again. So
I threw another ear, and they again jumped, and he spoke again in
exactly the same tone, “A-a-h! A-a-h!” (All is well!) and they
immediately dropped on the ground as before. This was repeated several
times. He may have told them that that fellow was strong in the back and
weak in the mind and didn’t care to eat us wild geese; at any rate when
I threw the last few ears they took his word for it and did not attempt
to fly. My reason for throwing the corn at him was to prove to my own
satisfaction that he had seen me throw it before, as, when taking a bag
of corn out, I sometimes stand still and throw it amongst them. This old
fellow’s confidence in the safety of this place will be fully explained
to you when I say that he actually dodged some of these ears. Yet it
took him fully fifteen minutes to convince his family that there was no
danger. The goose, his mate needed no introduction to an ear of corn;
she started eating the very first opportunity, but the four young were
dreadfully shy of those golden ears of corn, and it did amuse me to see
him introducing them to it. With one eye focused on me he would reach
down and pick up the ear in his beak, shake it until he got that grain
loose, then reach out and drop this kernel at the feet of one of these
big babies. But when he did get them started they cleaned off nearly
every cob before it came his turn to start in. Yes, as hungry as he
evidently was, he stood guard until the other five ravenous appetites
were relieved, then he willingly took the leavings. To prove they had
come over the top for a long way, these six geese ate every kernel of
these twelve small ears, at the one meal. Then after going in the pond
for a few minutes they came out on the green sod to rest and did not fly
around for a day or two.
In about ten days they were as tame as ours and I concluded we could
drive them under the net. So one day when all was quiet and no strangers
about, I asked my mother-in-law’s daughter to help me and she cheerfully
consented. We unrolled enough binding-twine to go clear across the pond;
then as she held one end and I the other, stretching it about two feet
above the water, we drove them quietly towards the net. Finally ours,
which are educated to that purpose, led the way, the six followed them
in and the trap-door fell. I, being so confident of getting them, had
six tags already stamped, and they were in my pocket. So I opened the
door and let our geese walk out. The six others huddled together in the
corner of the pen, but as I approached the gander opened his wings and
faced me. I at once overpowered him and clamped a tag on his hind leg,
then took him to the door and let him go. Did he fly away to the lake?
No! He did not fly two rods, but lit about twenty-five feet from the
door, and his beautiful breast just heaved as he called aloud for his
loved ones, “A-honk! A-honk! A-honk!” The interpretation is, “Come on!
Come on! Come on!” As I was catching number two I heard a commotion at
the door; I looked around, and this lady who was holding it preferred
being on the inside looking out, for this old gander had come back and
was fighting the wire to get in at me. To be brief, he never left the
door until every one of his family was liberated.
Now remember, I am telling you about the same species of bird that I
once crawled all the buttons off my wishbone wishing to get a shot at
him with a high-powered rifle, fully three fields away; and, like
thousands of other men who have tried the same plan, I seldom succeeded.
But now he was trying to get where he could strike me with his wings.
Well, for his faithfulness I recaught him and put a tag on each of his
legs, making seven tags for the six geese. On each of these seven tags
we stamped the following verse of Scripture: “No good thing will He
withhold from them that walk uprightly. Psalms 84:11.” We named this
gander Sir John Moore, after a noted, self-sacrificing General I have
often heard father speak of.
They all migrated in December, and the first week in March I received
the following letter:
To whom it may concern:
Outside of tag “Write Box 48, Kingsville, Ontario.” Inside of tag,
“No good thing will he withhold from them that walk uprightly.”
These words were found on a band on a wild male goose’s leg. The
gander was captured March 1st, 1918, and I am doing as the words on
the band requested.
He was certainly a nice one, weighing twelve pounds and as fat as
butter.
I certainly would be pleased to hear from you telling me how, when,
where and why the band was put on his leg, and I wish you would
please tell me all you can tell me about the habits of the wild fowl
up in your country.
They come down here in December, but the winter was so cold this
year that they went farther south; but they came back in February
and are still here. They feed in the rivers and creeks at night, and
at sunrise they fly out in the wheat fields for green wheat until
sundown, and then go back to the rivers. They leave here for the far
north about the middle of March.
I remain waiting for your reply,
LINDEN ARCHIBALD,
Kennedyville, Kent Co.,
Maryland, U.S.A.
I at once wrote Mr. Archibald and he kindly returned the tag.
On March 19th as we were eating dinner one of my boys spoke up quickly
and pointing out the window exclaimed, “Look, father! Look!” And sure
enough, here was Sir John Moore and four out of five of his family
standing in front of the window eating corn, the two bright tags
glittering on his legs.
This Moore family stayed together nearly all the time they were here,
the five of them going to the lake at night and returning early next
morning. Fortunately it was one of the young that got killed, hence the
family was not broken up.
Now and then during the month of April the Johnson and Smith youngsters,
yes, and sometimes the McDonalds and Jones’ and other young Canadians
too numerous to mention, would call on these three young Moores and all
would go about the premises together, apparently playing “Pussy wants a
corner,” “Drop the handkerchief,” “Coward, coward, can’t catch me,” and
so forth. But I never knew these, or any other young Canada geese, to be
gone from their parents over an hour at a time during their stay here in
March and April, and I am confident these families do not break up until
they reach the nesting ground.
Well, about the 25th of April, 1918, Sir John Moore and his family
disappeared, and in August I received the following letter:
Fort George, Hudson Bay,
June 26th, 1918.
Dear Mr. Miner,—
Enclosed find four tags which I received this morning from an
Indian; and as our boat is just leaving for the South, I am sending
them to you at once. He tells me an interesting thing about these
tags, as he says there was a flock of seven geese came to their
decoys, and this Indian and another got four of them, each of which
had a tag on it. One of the others killed by another hunter had two
tags on.
There was a good flight of geese this spring, but not very many were
killed.
The wavies, or snow geese, were very numerous this spring. The
Indians say that they have not seen so many for a long time.
Hoping the tags reach you safe, I remain,
Yours sincerely,
L. G. MAVER,
Fort George, Hudson Bay.
The reader can scarcely imagine my feelings when I read the message that
each one of these tags contained: “No good thing will he withhold from
them that walk uprightly.” This was proof that Sir John Moore’s family
was exterminated. It was not that I am opposed to the Indians getting
the geese; no, no. It was only the thought of my special pets all being
killed. As for the Indians and Esquimaux getting these birds, I believe
all honest, conscientious, thinking men will agree with me that there
are no people in America who are more justified in shooting them than
these natives up at Icicle Junction with their backs to the wall trying
to exist. Personally I feel that the best missionary work I have ever
done in my life is the thousands of geese I have fattened up and
permitted to go back to that isolated country where they were hatched.
Although these tags were mailed from Fort George, Hudson Bay, these
Indians may have brought them for three or even five hundred miles, Fort
George being their trading post.
Now I have given you quite a collection of rough, unadulterated and
unpolished facts about the ways of our lovely Canada geese. And when I
call them lovely remember I do not mean because they are so uniform in
color; nor is it because they are mostly all Canadian born. Not at all.
It is on account of their winning ways and I really want to say Godly
principles that in many respects could point the finger of shame at us
human beings. This is why I call him “our beautiful Canada goose;” and
if five per cent. of us Canadians really knew him, the other ninety-five
per cent. could not, or would not try to, keep him off one corner of our
Union Jack.