Читать книгу Gray Lady and the Birds: Stories of the Bird Year for Home and School - Mabel Osgood Wright - Страница 25

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“Perhaps the boys may not be interested in hearing about feathers and hats,” said Gray Lady, “but the two birds whose pictures you see here are very interesting in themselves; and it is well that both boys and girls should realize all the different reasons why some kinds of birds have been growing fewer and fewer, until it is necessary to take active measures for their protection.

“Boys have robbed nests and thoughtless men have shot and caged song-birds, and have often killed many more food-birds than they could eat, merely for what they call the ‘sport’ of killing.

“Girls who seldom rob nests, unless they are following the examples of their brothers, and women who would shrink from touching firearms or killing a bird, will still, as far as the law allows and sometimes further, wear birds’ feathers on their hats.

“Not many years ago we often saw whole birds, such as Humming-birds, Swallows,—like those on Eliza’s hat,—Bluebirds, and many of the pretty little warblers used as hat trimming. To-day, this is against the law in all of the really civilized of the United States, and any one offering the feathers of these birds for sale may be arrested and fined.”

“Please, is it any harm to wear roosters’ feathers or Guinea hens’ and ducks’ wings?” asked Ruth Banks. “ ’Cause I’ve got two real nice duck wings and a lovely spangled rooster tail—home-made ducks, you know, that we hatch under hens,” she added.

“No, it is no harm to use the feathers of domestic fowls, or other food-birds,” said Gray Lady; “only, unless we have raised the fowls from which they come ourselves, it is not easy to be sure about the matter, unless the feathers are left in their natural colours. They may tell you in a shop that the wing or breast you see is made of dyed chicken or pigeon feathers. You must take their word that this is so, and many times they may have been misled in the matter themselves.

“Birds’ feathers, it cannot be denied, are very beautiful and ornamental, but to my mind it is very bad taste to wear anything dead merely for ornament,—furs, of course, keep the wearer warm as well,—but I myself do not care for any hat trimming that can only be had by taking life.

“There is one kind of feather,—the Heron or Egret plume,—that I am not only sorry, but ashamed, to say is still in use, because it comes from birds that live in other countries, and these birds we cannot yet protect. Not only must these birds be killed to obtain the coveted plumes, but the killing is done in a brutal way, and at a time of year—the nesting season—when, according to the wise law of nature, every bird should be cherished and its privacy respected.

“Look at this great White Heron in the picture beside me here. He measures two feet from the tip of his bill up over his head to his tail, though you cannot really see the tail as he is pictured on account of the beautiful sweeping cloak of fine feathers that cover it. This bird has yellow eyes and feet, beak and legs partly yellow and partly black, but is everywhere else white of an almost dazzling brilliancy.

“Many birds wear more beautiful and highly coloured feathers in the nesting season than at any other. These Herons, both male and female, are pure white all the year through, but as the nesting season approaches a change comes,—a number of slender plumes grow out from between the shoulders and curve gracefully over the tail, forming a complete mantle, and it is these feathers that are sought by the professional plume hunters to be made into the feathery tufts sold as egrets, though the word Eliza used by a slip of the tongue, regrets, I think much more suitable, for surely any one with a warm woman’s heart would regret ever having worn them if she realized how they are obtained.”

“Miss Barker gave my mother hers,” put in Eliza, “ ’cause she’d just found out where they came from and dassn’t wear it to church ’cause her minister belongs to a society that wouldn’t like it. She didn’t tell us why, though; she only said regrets was counted stylish in N’ York.”

“Yes,” said Gray Lady, “that is all the idea some people, who think themselves very clever, have of honour. To give away a feather that one cannot wear, for fear of what some one will say, is like giving stolen goods to some one who does not know that they are stolen.

“Not many years ago this Snowy Heron and his cousin, the American Egret, almost twice his size, might be found everywhere in the swampy groves of temperate and tropical America, from New Jersey across to Minnesota and Oregon, and as far south as Patagonia in South America. Within a few years I have seen one or two in autumn in the marshes back of our bay below, for like many birds they wander about after the nesting season. Their food consists of small fish,—shrimps, water-beetles, etc.,—so that they never make their homes far from moist places. Now, in this country at least, the race is nearly gone, and it will be only by the strictest laws and most complete protection that it will be possible for the tribe to increase. To regain its old footing cannot be hoped for.

“The beginning of the tragedy came by woman’s love of finery, and only by her resolutely giving it up can the trouble be ended.

“Through some happening it was discovered that this mantle of feathers could be made into ornaments for hats and hair that were not only widely sought, but brought a high price. This was enough; bands of hunters were organized to search the swamps for the Herons and obtain the plumes when they were in the best condition. How it was to be done did not matter, and indeed it has taken the world many years to realize the horror of it all.

“These Herons breed in colonies. The nest, a stoutly built, slightly hollowed platform of small sticks, reeds, etc., is placed either in a tree or tall bush, care being always taken to keep it safely above the water-line. As the birds are very sociable, a single bush or tree would often contain many nests.

“When the nesting season was well under way and the feather cloaks in their first perfection, through the lagoons and sluggish waterways came noiseless flat-bottomed boats, low on the water, and poled by the guiding Indian or half-breed. Astern sat the plume hunters, guns at rest and eyes eagerly scanning the foliage above their heads. ‘Ah! here is a rookery at last!’ (rookery being the name given to colonies of many birds beside the Rook). The parent birds are sailing gracefully to and fro, their long legs trailing behind, while they feed the newly hatched nestlings. For with the most crafty calculation the plume hunters wait for the time when the birds are hatched because they know that the parents are then less likely to take alarm and fly beyond reach.

“The boat is stopped by the guide, who grasps an overhanging branch close to where an opening in the under-brush gives a good view of the colony.

“Bang! bang! Bodies crashing through the branches and pitiful cries of alarm mingle for several minutes, as the confused birds rise, remember their young, and return to die! When the smoke has lifted, the hunters clear the ground of the dead and dying and piling them in the boat begin to tear off that portion of the back, the ‘scalp,’ that holds the precious plumes. If all the birds were dead, the horror would be less, but time is precious; there are other rookeries to be visited that day, and so the still breathing and fluttering birds are also torn and mutilated.

“Then the boat glides on, leaving death behind. Yes, but not the silence that usually goes with death, for there in a hundred nests are the clamouring hungry broods that will die slowly of hunger, or be victims of snakes or birds of prey,—the happier ending of the two.

“After a day’s work the plume hunters find ground dry enough for a camp, where they pass the night, and at dawn they again glide forth on their ghastly errand.

“Sometimes storm, pestilence, and famine may nearly exterminate a species of bird or beast, but Nature in some way, if she still needs the type, always manages to restore and undo her own mischief; but, as a lover of these birds has said, ‘When man comes, slaughters, and exterminates, Nature does not restore!’ It is only the men and women who have done the evil that may be allowed to undo it, and sometimes it is too late.

“Now you see why no one should wear egret plumes, the feathers of the bird that has been called ‘The Bonnet Martyr.’ Girls and boys, whoever you may be, who hear or read this story of the vanishing Snowy Heron, be courageous, and wherever or whenever you see one of these regret plumes ask the wearer if she knows how it was obtained and tell her its story, for whether the bird who bore it lived in this or another country the manner of taking is the same.

“There have been foolish stories told of raising these birds in captivity and gathering the plumes after they are shed. This is not true. They would, when shed naturally, be worn and useless, and the egret will always be what one of the Wise Men has called it, the ‘White Badge of Cruelty.’”

“Now, Tommy Todd,” said Gray Lady, “you may take down the Heron and put the other picture in its place. The bird in it is not graceful and beautiful like the Heron; in fact, it looks more like some sort of a camel than a bird, but its story is much more cheerful. Its feathers may be worn by every one, for it is not necessary to kill or hurt the bird in order to get them. Some of you have guessed its name already, I am sure.