Of all creatures, the most unfit for war appear to be birds; yet they, too, have had their share of military vicissitudes and military fame. Geese have shown a genuine vocation for soldiering, and often have been seen waddling over a battle field with derisive composure, as though it were no more than a quarrelsome barnyard. The Romans honored them hardly less than their national eagle, ever after the geese of the Capitol gave the alarm, and enabled them to drive back the Gauls. If Rome was saved, to the geese was the glory!
A modern goose for twenty-three years accompanied an Uhlan regiment, and yet another, Jacob by name, joined the Coldstream Guards in Canada. He had been living in the usual barnyard retirement of fowls when one evening, as he was returning home from a little trip outside, a fox gave chase. All would soon have been over with Jacob had he not spied a sentry near by and taken refuge between his feet. The fox was shot, and henceforth, so long as a sentry was stationed at this place, the grateful bird would join him on his beat.
Some two months later he repaid his preserver by saving the latter’s life, when he in turn was attacked. Flying at the enemy, and beating his wings in their faces, he so disconcerted them that his friend was enabled to kill part and beat off the rest.
A gold collar, with suitable inscription, was his reward; and Jacob, in high favor with all, accompanied the battalion to England. In London he shared its barracks and had a sentry-go of his own, until one luckless day he was run over by a cart and killed.
A great contrast to Jacob, morally, was the raven Ralph, which Thomas Campbell saw in garrison at Chatham. He was one of those clever, swaggering, disreputable, yet kind-hearted rascals who so often enlist; who are always in hot water, and who, nevertheless, make many friends. Ralph had a fluent tongue, and his “Attention, Corporal!” “Turn out, Guard!” and “Sentry go!” often cheated the listeners. His wings had been clipped, but in other respects he enjoyed all the freedom his own reckless habits permitted; and when in an excess of curiosity he fell over into a water-butt and was drowned, there was general lamentation, as though he had been a very upright bird instead of an extremely depraved one.
OLD ABE.
A pleasanter story is that of the little bantam cock which perched on the poop of Lord Rodney’s ship during a great battle with the French, flapping his wings and crowing shrill defiance. It is a pleasure to know that this tiny hero never figured on the dinner-table, but was carefully provided for so long as he lived, by the admiral’s special orders.
There has been no more famous pet in our own military history than Old Abe, the eagle of the Eighth Wisconsin Regiment. From being at first the pet of a company, he rose to be the pet of a regiment, and finally of the nation, being supported at the public expense from the close of the war until his death. He has been photographed and painted; he has had his biography written; has been exhibited for the benefit of the Sanitary Commission, and was an honored guest in Philadelphia at the Centennial. More lucky in one respect than human celebrities—he was never annoyed by requests for his autograph!
It is tame to say that in war he stood fire like a veteran; in truth, he thrilled with a wild excitement in battle. Its smoke and roar and carnage were his proper element. Borne always next to the regimental colors, his perch was seamed with bullets; and why he was not, the enemy’s sharpshooters could never tell. Sometimes he would soar high above the fighting, and, poised in mid-air like one of Homer’s deities, survey the fearful scene. He shared all the battles of the regiment, and died full of years and honors.