THE GREAT BLUE HERON
“Dauph,” said Robert Allen one morning in early spring, “I saw a pair
of wood ducks over in Cut-off Slough yesterday, and the drake had the
handsomest plumage I ever saw on a bird. He would make a fine specimen
for your collection.”
Dauphin was a “born naturalist,” as his father called him, which meant
that the lad had a sense of the beauty and wonder of nature, and went
about with his eyes open. From the furred and feathered dwellers of the
wilderness into which the family had moved, when Dauphin was a small
child, he had secured and mounted a collection of specimens that would
have graced the great college which it was his ambition some day to
attend.
“Let’s go over and have a look at him in the morning, Rob,” eagerly
responded Dauphin.
Rob agreed, but it was rather late in the afternoon instead of early in
the morning, as they had planned, before the boys were ready for their
trip.
Cut-off Slough had once been a part of the river. A long bend, a mile
around, had, in a time of unusual high water, been cut off by the
flood breaking over and wearing a new channel through the narrow neck
of land, not more than fifty feet across. The hundred or more acres
enclosed in the great bend had now become an island, and the old bed of
the river a deep lagoon, or slough, as it was called, making an ideal
home for fish and wild fowl. The wearing of the new channel of the
river had formed a bar of sand across the mouth of the lagoon, high and
dry during the summer, but now, in the spring rise, overflowed, so that
the boys waded knee deep in the cold water to gain its banks.
Great trees, oak, maple, linden, birch, and ash, overhung the still
water, and the western sun cast dark shadows almost across its surface.
“It’s lucky for us it isn’t July,” said Dauphin, “or we couldn’t stay
in this place without face nets; the mosquitoes would eat us alive.”
“Seems to me they are bad enough now,” replied Rob, slapping at a dozen
big fellows that had struck his face. “Sh-sh! there is our beauty and
his sober wife. Over there by the stump with the white streaks, and the
limb sticking up.”
“Too far for these small shot,” whispered Dauphin; “I don’t want to use
large shot; spoils the plumage. Let’s crawl closer.”
The two boys crouched down, and on hands and knees slowly crawled
through the tall grass and reeds to where a point of land jutting out
into the water would give them the advantage they sought. But just as
Dauphin was about the fire the shot that would add another valuable
specimen to his collection, something occurred that drove all thoughts
of ducks from their mind. The “stump” lowered its “limb” that had
been sticking straight up, and out from its sides spread two wings,
fully eight feet from tip to tip. As the “limb” bent over, the white
streaks down the “stump” stood out in regal plumes from the crest of a
magnificent bird.
“Oh, Rob,” gasped Dauphin, “it must be the Great Blue Heron. I have
never seen one before, but Professor Hodge’s son Clifton, at Carleton,
sent me the picture of one, and told me to keep my eyes open for him.
He says they are rare now, though they used to be numerous, especially
in the northern part of the state, and the college has no specimen of
the bird.”
“Let me get him for you,” said Rob. “The heavy shot in my gun will do
surer work than your fine shot.” But before Rob could get aim, the
great bird began to move about in such a peculiar way that both boys
could only stare in wonder. Stepping out upon the sandbar the heron
crouched or squatted down, and began to go around and around, backward
and forward, in a sort of hop and skip. Then the boys saw coming down
the sand from out the shadows the cause of all this strange bowing
and scraping by the big bird. A second heron, not bright blue as the
first, but clad in more somber garments of bluish-grey, walked solemnly
toward her prospective lord and master. Approaching each other, both
birds stood perfectly still--as motionless as statues, their long bills
pointing straight up, and each balancing upon one foot. They stood
this way for a full minute, as if in solemn contemplation, and then
both joined in the mysterious gyrations. Approaching each other with
wings out-stretched, in the indescribably funny waltz step, they would
touch the tips of their bills and bow to the ground two or three times.
Then they would separate and go waltzing past each other with the hop
and skip, back and forth, around and around, finally to come and touch
bills and go to bowing again.
The whole performance was so comical that the boys rolled over in the
grass shaking with merriment, and Rob, unable to restrain his hilarity,
gave a loud “ha! ha!” At once there was a flap of wings and the female
bird went sailing over the tops of the trees. The blue heron, he of the
royal plumes, however, after one upward spring, settled down and stood
in dignified stolidity, apparently gazing at the sky.
“Shoot! Rob, shoot!” cried Dauphin. “Get him before he can get away.”
“No, no,” said Rob. “Don’t you see he’s fast some way? He’s wound some
of that tough grass around one of his legs. Let’s catch him alive.
Think of the money we can make taking him around showing him. Or maybe
we can sell him to the professor in your college for a big sum. Surely
a live bird will bring more than a mere specimen.”
The boys threw down their guns and made a rush in the direction of the
great bird. But the ground where the dancing party had been held was
more adapted to bird than human feet, and their progress was slow as
they sank half way to their knees in the soft earth and water.
“You stay on this side while I’ll go around behind, and we’ll make a
grab at him together. We can hold him all right,” said Rob.
“Now,” said Dauphin, “catch him around his wings, and I’ll hold his
legs.” And both boys made a rush. The big bird made another unavailing
attempt to rise, then, awaiting the attack, drew back the long neck,
and with the white plumes standing straight out behind, sent his bill
like a sword-thrust straight at Dauphin’s breast. There was a sound of
the impact of the blow, a moan from the boy, who sank crumpled up to
the ground, and, with another mighty lift of the huge wings the Great
Blue Heron was free.
Plunging through the rushes and mud, Rob reached his chum, carried him
up the bank, and opened his thick hunting jacket and shirt. The long
bill of the bird had evidently broken a rib, but had not penetrated
the flesh. In a moment Dauphin opened his eyes. “My! what was it? I
can’t breathe. Who would have thought that pesky bird could strike like
that?” And, indeed, Dauphin was fortunate to have escaped with the
discomfort of a broken rib, that would be “as good as new” in a couple
of weeks. The strength and thickness of his buckskin jacket probably
saved his life, for less than a fortnight later a young Indian of a
nearby camp, struck upon the bare side by the bill of a “sandhill”
crane, a much smaller bird than the Great Blue Heron, was pierced to
the heart and instantly killed.
“Well,” said Rob, “we didn’t get any specimens, but we did get to
attend the heron’s ball.”
“Yes,” replied Dauphin, “but I think the next time I go will be when I
am an _invited_ guest.”