Virginia Sharpe Patterson - Dickey Downy
V >>
Virginia Sharpe Patterson >> Dickey Downy
Pages:
1 |
2 |
3 |
4 | 5 |
6 |
7
I could have listened for hours to the sweet familiar tale my feathered
brother told of life in the happy woodland, but Betty's mother suddenly
hurrying out to the pump to fill her bucket, cut short the story, and
away my bird friend skimmed out of sight without so much as saying
"good-bye." Though I saw him several times after that, he never came
so close again.
"Oh, what heaps and heaps of fireflies!" exclaimed Betty, as she
unhooked my cage to move me into the house that evening. "It looks as
if our door-yard was full of moving lanterns."
"Nothin' but lightnen bugs!" said Joe contemptuously. "Here, see me
catch 'em," and in a few minutes he showed her a handful which he had
killed by crushing between his hands.
"Hold on, I want to catch some too!" and hustling me into the kitchen,
Betty ran along with him and was soon engaged in catching and killing
the beautiful fireflies.
CHAPTER IX
THE HUNTERS
Song birds, plumage birds, water fowl, and many innocent birds of prey,
are hunted from the everglades to the Arctic Circles for the barbaric
purpose of decorating women's hats. The extent of this traffic is
simply appalling.--_G. O. Shields._
When Joe and his father came back from their gunning expeditions, the
accounts they gave of the day's slaughter made me very homesick and
miserable, and wore sadly on my spirits in my captivity.
The heartless indifference with which the woman would ask her husband
if it had been "a good day for killings," almost made me wail aloud.
"Best kind of luck; I bagged nearly a hundred this trip," he replied
exultingly, one night when she put the usual question. "The birds were
as thick as blackberries in the high weeds along the creek, and were
havin' a mighty good time stuffing themselves with seeds. Joe fired
the old gun to start 'em and, great Jerushy! in a minute the sky was
dark with 'em; I just blazed away and they dropped thick all around us,
and it kept us tol'ble busy for a while a pickin' 'em up."
"Pop, tell 'em about the old water bird down in the swamp," said Joe
with a wicked laugh.
"Yes, tell us; what was it, pop?" urged Betty.
"Oh, nothin' partickler, I reckon; just an old bird that hadn't the
grit to get away from me," and the man gave a low chuckle at the
remembrance.
"My, oh! the way them old birds hung around and wouldn't scare worth a
cent when we was right up close to 'em was funny, I tell ye," and Joe
leaned back in his chair and slapped his knees in a fresh burst of
merriment.
"There was eggs in the nest was the cause," said the man; "them birds
are always as tame as kittens then. You can go right up to 'em and
they won't leave the nest. Them birds has two broods in a season, and
then's the chance to get a good whack at 'em."
Joe rubbed his hands together in delight as he turned to his sister,
"You'd ought to have seen 'em, Betty. There was pop in his rubber
boots a creepin' along--a c-r-e-e-p-i-n' along as sly as a mouse toward
'em, and there they stayed. The male bird he fluttered and' squawked,
and the female she stuck to the nest till pop he got right up and he
didn't even have to shoot her. He just clubbed her over the back and
down she went ker-splash as dead as you please. Them there eggs won't
hardly hatch out this year, I don't reckon," and at the prospect Joe
broke into a malicious guffaw.
"I think to club it was meaner'n to shoot the poor thing," said Betty
indignantly. "And, anyway, I wouldn't a-killed it on the nest. It's
mean to treat an 'fectionate bird so."
"Pshaw, you'd do big things!" was Joe's scornful reply.
"Well, I wouldn't be so tremenj'us cruel," persisted Betty; "I don't
believe in killing a pretty bird."
"But what would the wimmen do without bunnet trimmen' if we didn't kill
'em, hey?" and Joe finished his question with a taunting whistle.
As the shadows of each evening gathered around the cottage, the shadow
over my life seemed to deepen and grow more gloomy. Outside the door I
could hear the hum of the bees as they flew homeward, the wind-harp
played in the yellow pines its softest, sweetest music, and I scented
the odor of honeysuckles and roses far away. The rushing of the waters
over the stones in the creek tinkled dreamily, but in the midst of all
earth's loveliness I was desolate, because I was not free.
And thus the summer days dragged wearily along, and the autumn came.
It is not surprising then that I was overjoyed when later on I learned
that I was to be given as a present to a young relative of Betty's, who
lived to the northward in a distant State. My present existence had
grown almost intolerable, and I felt that any change could scarcely
make my condition worse, and there was a chance of its being better.
The prospect put new life into me.
Preening my feathers became a pleasant task once more. I whetted my
bill till it glistened, and my long-neglected toilet again became my
daily care.
"I shall be mighty glad to get rid of the mopy creature," Betty's
mother had, said when they talked of my departure. "I wouldn't give
the thing house-room for my part."
"Cousin Polly will like it, though," Betty answered her mother. "Polly
was always fond of pets, and she'll be powerful pleased to get it as a
present from her Southern kinfolks."
"We'll have to go to the cost of a new cage, I reckon, and I don't feel
like spending the money, neither," mused the mother. "Polly might like
a bresspin better. I don't know as it will pay to send her the bird
after all."
How my heart sank at this announcement! so fearful was I that I might
have to remain at the cottage; but Betty's answer gave me new hope.
"Oh, certain it will pay!" she exclaimed eagerly. "You know how many
nice things Cousin Dunbar's sent us off-and-on, and only last Christmas
Polly sent me my string of beads. As for giving her a bresspin for a
keepsake, she can get a heap nicer one out of their own store than any
we could send her, and I'm certain she'd like the bird best of all;
it's such a good chance to send it by Uncle Dan when he is going to
their town and can hand it right over to Polly."
"I reckon you're right. Well, it will be only the cost of the cage,"
said her mother, and so the matter was settled, much to my satisfaction.
My new cage was very pretty, if anything can be said in praise of a
prison, and was much lighter and pleasanter than the old, heavy,
home-made structure in which I had been shut up so long. Its rim was
painted a cheerful green, and the wires were burnished like gold.
Ornamental sconces held the glass cups for my food and there were
decorated hoops to swing in. Altogether it was a very handsome house,
yet I could not forget it was a prison house.
Betty busied herself in fixing it comfortably for me, and was full of
kind attentions. She begged me many times not to get frightened when
the cover would be put on my cage. The hood was necessary when I was
traveling, but Uncle Dan would be sitting right near me all the time
and would be very good to me. She further assured me that I would find
the motion of the cars delightful, and that all I would have to do was
to sit on my perch and munch my seed and have a good time. How jolly
it would be to go whizzing past fences and over bridges and through
tunnels and towns and never know it, she said. She also charged me
particularly not to be scared when I would hear an occasional horrible
shriek and a rumbling like thunder, as if the day of judgment was at
hand. I must remember it was only the locomotive, and it was obliged
to do those disagreeable things to make the cars go faster'n, faster'n,
faster'n------
How much faster I did not have time to find out, for Uncle Dan just
then called to get me. A light cover with a hole in the top was
slipped over my cage, and I started on my journey. Of my trip, of
course, I knew nothing. Part of the way we rode in a wagon through the
country to the station where we took the train, but as Uncle Dan did
not remove my cover in the railway car the time spent on the journey
was almost a blank to me.
Right glad was I, after what seemed a long, long time of jarring and
jolting, to find the cage once more swinging from his hand and to hear
the click of his boot heels on the pavements as we went through the
streets of the town where Polly lived.
CHAPTER X
A NEW HOME
Should it happen that the last egret is shot and the last bird of
paradise is snared to adorn a lady's dress, then--then I would not like
to be a woman for all that earth could hold.--_Herbert O. Ward._
When at last my covering was removed I found myself in a large, long
room, which I afterward learned was a millinery store. In fact the
store was the front part of the family residence, the living rooms
being behind and upstairs over it. My cage was hung near the wide
doorway at the end of the apartment and my new mistress at once ran to
fill my cup with fresh water and bring me a supply of clean millet.
After I had refreshed myself I began to look about me and study my
strange surroundings.
My new home was so unlike the little log house in the South from which
I had come that it was many days before I could accustom myself to the
clatter of voices which buzzed monotonously all day through the store.
From ten o'clock in the morning, if the day were fine, till three in
the afternoon, the din at times was almost deafening; for it was the
busy season and customers were constantly coming and going, not all of
them to buy, merely to look over the ribbons and tumble up the goods,
as I heard the tired clerks say complainingly more than once.
Numerous glass cases were placed near the walls, and running cross-wise
were a counter and shelves much frequented by ladies who stood eagerly
examining the array of bright gauzes, the glittering buckles, the
flowers and plumes displayed there. And what a chattering they kept
up! What a stir and a hubbub they made! So many "Oh-h's" and
"Ah-h's," so many "How lovely's," and other ecstatic exclamations, were
mingled with their conversation as was quite bewildering. In time,
however, I became accustomed to this and discovered it was simply a way
ladies have of expressing their approval of things in general. Around
the glass cases which held the trimmed hats the women buzzed like a
swarm of flies, their volubility assuming a more emphatic character as
they gazed within at the fashionable headgear placed on long steel
wires. Almost every hat held one, or a part of one, of my slaughtered
race. Frequently there were parts of two or three varieties on one
hat--a tail of one kind, a wing of another, or a head of a different
species. The ends of the world had been searched to make this
patchwork of blood. The women raved over the cruel display; they
gloated over our beauty; but they cared nothing for the pathetic story
the hats told of rifled nests and motherless young.
My new owner was a soft-voiced, gentle child, from whom I soon found I
had nothing to fear. She was most careful to keep my cage in order and
never neglected to feed me. Unlike her little friend Betty, she never
allowed her sports or pleasures to interfere with this duty. Often her
playmates came for a romp in the garden behind the store, but she did
not join them till she had first attended to my wants. I was fond of
having her talk to me, for her voice was sweet and kind, and the little
terms of endearment she often used were very pleasing and made me feel
she was my true friend. She once tried to pet me by stroking my
feathers, but I did not like it. Although I knew she did not mean to
hurt me, the motion of her hand made me nervous. Instead of
persisting, she only said reproachfully, as she put me back on my perch:
"Dear Dickey Downy, why are you afraid of me? Your own little Polly
wouldn't hurt you for the world. I wanted to softly stroke your pretty
plumage just out of pure love and, you dear little coward, you won't
let me."
In her affection for me, Polly did not forget the wild birds outside,
which flew about in the big evergreen trees near the garden gate. She
showed her thoughtfulness for the little creatures by strewing bread
crumbs for them on the window sills on snowy days. She often gathered
up the tablecloth after the housemaid had removed the breakfast dishes
and, running out under the trees, would shake it vigorously that her
wild pets might get all the little pieces of food that fell. Not a
bird came down as long as she remained in the yard, but as soon as she
had tripped back to the house and the door closed upon her brown curls,
I could see a drove of hungry snowbirds swoop from the trees, and in a
minute every crumb would be picked up. I am sure they must have loved
dear little Polly, for many a choice bit did they get through her
kindness.
While the majority of the customers at the store were well-dressed
women, there were many who came to buy hats who looked poor and
pinched. A few looked slatternly.
A sudden swing of their dress skirts would disclose a badly frayed
petticoat or a tattered stocking showing above the shabby shoe. Their
gloveless hands were red and cold and coarse, and the milliner told the
clerk that she dreaded to have them handle her filmy laces or
glistening satins, because their rough fingers stuck to the delicate
fabrics and injured them.
These poor women worked hard, early and late. Beyond the barest
necessities they had little to spare, and yet not a woman among them
would have bought an unfashionable or out-of-date hat could she have
had it at one quarter the price. Feathers were fashionable, and
feathers she must have. Might not one "as well be out of the world as
out of the fashion"?
All this dreadful traffic in my murdered comrades, and their display in
the glass cases as well as on the heads of the customers, naturally
made me very sad, and I now looked with aversion at every woman who
entered the store. But that all were not heartless fiends who were
robed in feminine garb I found out another day when a daintily dressed
lady came in to purchase a winter hat. The contents of the glass cases
were looked over critically for some time before she selected one which
she tried on before the long mirror. The milliner, who deftly adjusted
it for her, tipping it first forward a little, then setting it back a
trifle, stood off now to view the effect, at the same time assuring her
how beautiful it was, and how vastly becoming to her.
"I like this hat very much," said the lady; "or at least I shall like
it when the bird is taken off."
"You think the oriole too gay? Orange is quite the vogue," answered
the milliner, who seemed reluctant to make any change, and yet was
anxious to please her customer. "Perhaps you'd prefer some wings; or
stay, here is a sweet little gull that will go all right with the rest
of the trimming. We will take off the oriole if you wish."
"Thank you, but I have decided not to wear birds any more," said the
customer.
"But the effect would be quite spoiled without a wing, or an aigrette,
or something there," exclaimed the milliner. "You wouldn't like it. I
wouldn't think of taking off the bird, if I were you."
"Yes, I shall like it much better with the bird off," returned the lady
quietly. "I have sufficient sins to answer for without any longer
adding the crime of bird slaughter to the list."
The milliner bestowed on her a pitying smile, but evidently was too
politic to get into a discussion of an unpleasant subject. Having
given her final order for the hat, the lady crossed over to the other
side of the room and shook hands with a friend whom she addressed as
Mrs. Brown, who had just come in and was making a purchase at the lace
counter.
"I have been putting my new resolution into effect," she remarked after
the first greetings; "I have just ordered my new hat, and it is not to
have a bird or a wing or a tail on it."
"Oh, I'm glad to hear of one convert to the gospel of mercy," said Mrs.
Brown heartily. "The apathy of our women on this subject is
heart-sickening. Men are denouncing us; the newspapers are full of our
cruelty; the pulpit makes our heartlessness its theme; and yet we keep
on with our barbarous work with an indifference that must make the
angels weep."
Her face glowed with righteous indignation. It was easy to see that
any cause to which she might commit herself was sure of an ardent and
untiring champion.
"But they tell me that chicken feathers, and those of other domestic
fowls are being largely used now instead of birds," said the other lady.
"Oh, yes; they tell us so because they want to prevent us from getting
alarmed, since so much has been said against the destruction of the
birds. It is true that chicken feathers always have been used to some
extent, the straight quills for instance. I know it is frequently
broadly asserted that the most of the birds used are made birds, but
the manufactured creatures are poor deceptions; they are mixed with
bird feathers, and are sold only to the less fastidious customers. The
demand for genuine birds is as great as ever."
"But do you think as many are used now as formerly?" questioned her
companion.
"Yes, indeed! Just think of the feather capes and muffs and
collarettes made of birds. The market for them is increasing all the
time. It takes from eighteen to twenty-five skins for each collar, and
I don't know how many for the muffs. Oh, I tell you, women are heaping
up judgment on themselves."
The other lady looked grave. "I understand," said she, "that in many
places down on the New Jersey coast the boatmen have given up fishing,
as they can make so much more money killing terns and gulls for women's
use. They earn fifty dollars a week at it, at ten cents apiece for the
birds. Isn't that a horrible record for women?"
"I don't doubt they earn that much, and perhaps more," answered Mrs.
Brown; "for one season there were thirty thousand terns killed in one
locality alone. And at Cape Cod, and up along the shore near where I
lived, they are slain by thousands every season and shipped to New
York. Oh, I can't tell you how distressing it used to be to hear the
report of the guns day after day and know that every piercing sound was
the sign that more innocent lives were being taken. I used to cover up
my ears and try not to hear them. It made me shiver to know that those
poor gulls were being shot down for nothing. Their only crime
consisted in being beautiful."
Both women turned at that moment attracted by the sight of a young lady
who was standing on the pavement outside in an animated talk with
another girl.
"There's Miss Van Dyke, with her new feather collar on," observed Mrs.
Brown, in a low voice.
The young lady in question was a dashing, radiant creature, bright with
smiles and a face like a picture. On her shapely shoulders was a
magnificent cape, lustrous as satin, of silvery white, into which pale
dark lines softly blended at regular intervals. Twenty-two innocent
lives had been taken to make that little garment. Twenty-two beautiful
grebes slain that their glossy breasts might lend splendor to a lady's
wardrobe.
The two friends looked at Miss Van Dyke in silence for a moment, then
sighed as she passed along out of their view.
"When I see such perversion of woman's nature I wonder that the very
stones do not cry out against us," exclaimed Mrs. Brown. "And mark my
words, the slaughter will go on; the unholy traffic will not long be
confined to grebe's breasts for muffs and cape trimmings. Other birds
will be used. The gentle creatures are not all put on hats."
"Oh! I must not forget to tell you that the new preacher over at the
Second Church has begun a course of lectures on the work of mercy that
women might do. He says that as mothers in the homes, and as teachers
in the public schools and the Sabbath-schools, we have a grand
opportunity."
"So we have; but what avails our opportunity if our eyes are blinded so
that we do not see it?" assented Mrs. Brown.
"Last night," resumed the lady, "he spoke particularly of the crime of
wearing birds; and he accuses us of being more cruel than men."
"He does?" questioned Mrs. Brown, in great surprise. "Why, we all know
that woman's part in this wickedness comes from her desire to look
pretty; at least she thinks that wearing birds adds to her beauty. Her
wickedness does not come from actual love of butchery. But men and
boys have shot innocent creatures since the world began for the mere
brutal pleasure of killing something. It seems as though they were
born with a blood-thirsty instinct, a wanting to destroy life, to hunt
it and shoot it down. They beg to go gunning almost before they are
out of dresses and into trousers. Every mother knows there is a savage
streak in her boy's nature. No," continued Mrs. Brown, with a decisive
nod of her head, "I say let the man who is without sin among them be
the first to cast stones now. Perhaps this very preacher spent all his
Saturdays robbing birds' nests and clubbing birds when he was a little
boy, and kept it up until he was big enough to kill them with a gun.
Of course there are some who do not; not all boys are cruel. But this
cruelty does not excuse ours. Man's wickedness does not make us the
less guilty. We will be held responsible all the same."
The other woman looked thoughtful. "Well," she said at last, "I
haven't quite lost all faith in womanly mercy. Women don't mean to be
cruel; the trouble is they don't think."
"Don't think!" echoed Mrs. Brown scornfully. "Don't think! That is an
excuse entirely too babyish for women to offer in this age of the
world. Do they want to be regarded as irresponsible children forever?
Don't you know that childish thoughtlessness on a subject as important
as the needless taking of life argues tremendously against us? Here we
are at the twentieth century, and with all our boasted advancement we
are as cruel and savage as Fiji Islanders. Oh, don't talk to me about
women!" and she made an outward motion of her hand as if pushing away
an imaginary drove of them that was coming too near. "I haven't a
particle of patience with them. If they're not in the habit of
thinking, let them begin it right off. Let them begin it before the
birds are all destroyed. If they have the least spark of tenderness
left in their hearts------"
The rest of the sentence was lost in the louder tones of a pert little
miss, who in company with her mother was rummaging over a box of
trimmings on the counter nearest my cage.
CHAPTER XI
THE ILL-MANNERED CHILD
O wad some power the giftie gie us
To see oursel's as ithers see us.
--_Burns._
There lived of yore a saintly dame,
Whose wont it was with sweet accord
To do the bidding of her Lord
In quaintly fashioned bonnet
With simplest ribbons on it.
"I won't have ribbon loops, I tell you," exclaimed the child. "I want
an owl's head and I'm going to have it."
"Why, my dear, the ribbon is ever so much prettier," urged the mother
soothingly. "An owl's head is too old a trimming for your hat, dear.
It wouldn't do at all. Here, select some of this nice ribbon."
"Didn't I say I wouldn't have it?" answered "dear" pettishly, as she
reached into another box containing an assortment of wings, quails,
tails, and parts of various birds jumbled up together. Picking out a
pair of blackbird's wings she placed them jauntily against the rim of
an untrimmed hat which her mother held.
"There, that looks nice," was her comment. "If I can't have an owl's
head I'm going to have these wings."
Her mother mildly assured her that the ribbon was more suitable only to
be met with the reply: "You can wear it yourself then, for I sha'n't
wear it."
This shocking disrespect caused two old ladies who were pricing hat
pins to turn quickly and view the offender.
"Goodness gracious!" ejaculated one of them, drawing a deep breath.
"If that youngster belonged to me for about twenty minutes, wouldn't I
give her something wholesome that she'd remember? I'd take the
tantrums out of her in short order."
"She deserves it, sure," said her companion. "But the mother is more
to blame than the child for letting it grow up with such abominable
manners. I dare say the woman at first thought it was cute and smart
in the little thing, and now she can't help herself. La, sakes! just
listen to that." She re-adjusted her spectacles and gazed with added
interest at the pair in altercation.
With the hat poised on her finger the milliner was bending smilingly
toward the little girl who was giving her order in a very peremptory
tone.
"I want those wings put on my hat. I won't wear it if you trim it only
in ribbon."
The mother seemed a little embarrassed as she told the milliner that
she supposed the hat would have to be trimmed in the way Elsie wanted
it.
"Humph! I knew the child would get what she wanted," observed the old
lady who had first spoken. "I felt all the time that the mother would
have to give in. What on earth did she let her take those big black
wings for? Two of those little yellow sugar birds would have been
better for a child's hat. The idea of letting a youngster rule you
that way! My!" and then she took another deep breath. "She needs a
trouncing, if ever a child did," and with that she and her friend
resumed their shopping.
Pages:
1 |
2 |
3 |
4 | 5 |
6 |
7