IN THE Cumberland Mountains, near Gruetli,
Tennessee, two friends and I once saw an instance of supreme
obedience. A native of the woods directed us by means of
blazed trees to a certain spot where we were to look ahead
of us on the ground intently. At the first sign of motion we
were to concentrate our gaze on the spot where the motion
began. Without this pre-warning we might not have seen the
sudden swift shadow that flitted off a rod under the bushes
before it became vocal and visible.
A big bird—brown, gray, and white
speckled like dead leaves—fell down upon the ground with
broken wings, crying in great pain. We scarcely turned our
heads to look at this mother whippoorwill but scanned the
spot from which she started. As our eyes became accustomed
to the sunshine flecked twilight, we found her nest, just a
hollow in a heap of dead leaves, and in it two baby
whippoorwills, not so long as my forefinger and covered with
a yellowish down hard to distinguish from the leaves among
which they lay. Their large eyes were closed, and they lay
as inert as lifeless things.
The mother was in terrible distress. In a
circle she dragged herself along the ground, flying up a
foot or two and falling back, and striving by every gesture
possible to entice us to follow; but we looked very little
at her. We watched to see how long the babies would lie
motionless. In an amazing manner the mother was able to
intersperse her loud and constant outcries with very soft,
tender-toned chirps and short calls that were intended for
the babies' reassurance.
As we did not move away from the nest,
she circled clear around us, finally flying up to a tree
branch not much higher than our heads about a rod beyond the
nest. There she sat facing us and the nest, continuing her
piteous cries and tender baby talk. Her eyes were amazingly
large and lustrous, and her feathers fluffed out softly,
giving her almost a circular effect.
Meantime the babies were absolutely
obedient. Seized by the impulse to touch a live wild thing,
I bent down and put my finger on the head of one of the
fluffballs. It evidently could see me through its
translucent eyelids or perceive me by some other acute
sense; for as my hand neared it, a heavy shudder passed once
over it. Then it endured my touch without moving, and the
other did not move at all.
But my motion had terrified the mother
into such an excess of grieving cries that we took pity on
her and moved away. She continued her protests until we were
clear back on the roadway, from which we could not see her.
We suppose she darted down to the nest and praised her
precious ones for their perfect obedience and self-control
under the attack of giants as terrifying as monsters from
Mars.
