Part 18

From my boyhood I have seen the yearly meeting of the crows in September or October, on a high grassy hill or a wooded ridge. Apparently, all the crows from a large area assemble at these times; you may see them coming, singly or in loose bands, from all directions to the rendezvous, till there are hundreds of them together. They make black an acre or two of ground. At intervals they all rise in the air, and wheel about, all cawing at once. Then to the ground again, or to the tree-tops, as the case may be; then, rising again, they send forth the voice of the multitude. What does it all mean? I notice that this rally is always preliminary to their going into winter quarters. It would be interesting to know just the nature of the communication that takes place between them. Not long afterwards, or early in October, they may be seen morning and evening going to and from their rookeries. The matter seems to be settled in these September gatherings of the clan. Was the spot agreed upon beforehand and notice served upon all the members of the tribe? Our "school-of-the-woods" professors would probably infer something of the kind. I suspect it is all brought about as naturally as any other aggregation of animals. A few crows meet on the hill; they attract others and still others. The rising of a body of them in the air, the circling and cawing, may be an instinctive act to advertise the meeting to all the crows within sight or hearing. At any rate, it has this effect, and they come hurrying from all points.

What their various calls mean, who shall tell? That lusty caw-aw, caw-aw that one hears in spring and summer, like the voice of authority or command, what does it mean? I never could find out. It is doubtless from the male. A crow will utter it while sitting alone on the fence in the pasture, as well as when flying through the air. The crow's cry of alarm is easily distinguished; all the other birds and wild creatures know it, and the hunter who is stalking his game is apt to swear when he hears it. I have heard two crows in the spring, seated on a limb close together, give utterance to many curious, guttural, gurgling, ventriloquial sounds. What were they saying? It was probably some form of the language of love.

I venture to say that no one has ever yet heard the crow utter a complaining or a disconsolate note. He is always cheery, he is always self-possessed, he is a great success. Nothing in Bermuda made me feel so much at home as a flock of half a dozen of our crows which I saw and heard there. At one time they were very numerous on the island, but they have been persecuted till only a remnant of the tribe remains.

My friend and neighbor through the year, Self-appointed overseer

Of my crops of fruit and grain, Of my woods and furrowed plain,

Claim thy tithings right and left, I shall never call it theft.

Nature wisely made the law, And I fail to find a flaw

In thy title to the earth, And all it holds of any worth.

I like thy self-complacent air, I like thy ways so free from care,

Thy landlord stroll about my fields, Quickly noting what each yields;

Thy courtly mien and bearing bold, As if thy claim were bought with gold;

Thy floating shape against the sky, When days are calm and clouds sail high;

Thy thrifty flight ere rise of sun, Thy homing clans when day is done.

Hues protective are not thine, So sleek thy coat each quill doth shine.

Diamond black to end of toe, Thy counter-point the crystal snow.

Never plaintive nor appealing, Quite at home when thou art stealing,

Always groomed to tip of feather, Calm and trim in every weather,

Morn till night my woods policing, Every sound thy watch increasing.

Hawk and owl in tree-top hiding Feel the shame of thy deriding.

Naught escapes thy observation, None but dread thy accusation.

Hunters, prowlers, woodland lovers Vainly seek the leafy covers.

III

Noisy, scheming, and predacious, With demeanor almost gracious,

Dowered with leisure, void of hurry, Void of fuss and void of worry,

Friendly bandit, Robin Hood, Judge and jury of the wood,

Or Captain Kidd of sable quill, Hiding treasures in the hill,

Nature made thee for each season, Gave thee wit for ample reason,

Good crow wit that's always burnished Like the coat her care has furnished.