"Yea, master," croaked the raven, "I understand," and spreading his
sable wings over the waste of waters he flew, anxious, as was Noah, for
a sight of dry land.
The day passed, evening fell, and the raven had not returned.
"An ill-omened bird," gloomily said Shem, "so black and uncanny
looking. His croak, even, hath to mine ear an evil sound."
"What thou sayest is true, brother," returned Ham. "Verily the raven
hath a wicked look. A bird of more cheerful aspect, it seemeth to me,
might well have been chosen. The albatross, so majestic, with powers of
flight excelling all other creatures of the air; the eagle, or better
still the stormy petrel, so light of body, its webbed feet enabling it,
with expanding wing, to rest at will upon the face of the waters."
"Coo-o-o," came a low, plaintive call from a far corner. "Coo-o-o."
"Ah, my turtle dove," responded Japheth, "so loving, so true! Had the
choice of a messenger been left to me, my brothers, verily would I have
chosen the dove. Naught but death would have kept it, believe me, from
its mate and us."
Noah turned from the window and gazed sternly upon his three sons.
"What signifieth the complexion of bird, beast, or man," he demanded
gravely, "when one standeth in need of courage, intelligence, strength?
Among all the winged creatures of the air within the ark, canst thou
name one with instinct more subtle than the raven's? Black and uncanny
looking, forsooth! Witness his speech, I tell thee," decisively, "the
bird hath understanding."
As Noah ceased speaking, there came a low, faint tapping at the window.
With a glad countenance he hastened to open it, and in flew the raven,
quite exhausted.
"Water, water, everywhere," croaked the bird, and after wearily eating
the food Noah gave him, tucked his head beneath his wing and was soon
fast asleep.
Upon the morning of the next day, Noah again sent the raven forth, also
the next, and the next.
"Water, water, everywhere," croaked the raven, as before, upon his
return, and after wearily eating of the food which Noah gave him,
tucked his head beneath his wing and was soon fast asleep.
"Verily," sneered Ham, who with his brothers had grown very impatient,
"the sable-plumaged bird which thou dost insist upon sending forth
daily, knoweth naught, to my mind, but the words which he so glibly
speaketh. Surely he hath heard them uttered an hundred times."
Noah reflected. "What thou sayest, my son, may be true," he responded,
"for of a surety when gazing from the window these many, many months,
those words of our speech have been the daily burden. To-morrow, then,"
his gaze fixed upon the stormy petrel, "we will send forth----"
"Coo-o-o" came a plaintive call from the corner. "Coo-o-o."
"The dove," finished Noah, thoughtfully, "for verily it doth seem to
answer me. Though devoid of speech, its affectionate nature may yet
prompt it to devise some way by which its message may be interpreted."
And so upon the morning of the next day Noah opened the window of the
ark and, the dove, poising upon his finger, spread her beautiful wings
and over the waste of waters took her joyful flight.
The day passed, evening fell, and the dove had not returned.
A dark frown was settling upon the brow of Ham, when a faint tapping
was heard at the window.
"Water, water, everywhere," croaked the raven, maliciously, as Noah
hastened to open it and draw the exhausted bird within. "Water, water,
everywhere."
"Verily, oh, raven!" despondently said Noah, "it doth appear that the
dove, not more than thou, didst find a place for the sole of her foot.
I will wait yet another seven days," he added thoughtfully, "ere I send
her forth again."
And Noah waited seven days, and on the morning of the eighth he sent
the dove forth again in quest of dry land.
The day passed, but ere evening fell the bird returned, bearing in her
bill, as a token that the waters had abated, a freshly-plucked olive
leaf.
"Thou art God's own messenger," joyfully said Noah, tenderly caressing
the dove. "Verily something more than instinct guided and prompted thee
in thy flight this day."
And Noah waited yet another seven days ere he again sent forth the dove.
This time, to the ark, the dove returned no more.
"Coo-o-o," more plaintively than usual, called her mate the next
morning. "Co-o-o-o."
"He mourns for his lost love," pityingly said Japheth, the youngest
son. "Verily, something hath befallen the bird!"
"Nay," responded Noah, "liberty is sweet. After long captivity in a
dark, close house-boat, freedom might well try the fidelity of e'en a
turtle dove. She awaits his coming, perchance, in the nearest pine or
willow tree. Open then the window and let him forth."
And Japheth did as his father commanded, but sorrowfully, for it
chanced that in close companionship, lo, these many days, with these
innocent children of nature, Japheth had come to acquire a tender love
and care for both beast and bird.
"Go, thou mourning dove," he said, unconsciously bestowing a fitting
name upon the gentle bird. "Go!" And, spreading his beautiful wings,
off the dove joyfully flew, following with unerring instinct the path
in the air yesterday taken by his mate.
And yet a few days and Noah removed the covering from the ark and
looked, and behold, the face of the ground was dry.