Wild Kindred

by Jean M. Thompson

Although Silver Wing, the old leader of the gull tribe, felt badly enough over the loss of the little gulls, he was much older and wiser than his mourning mate; he had lived through many seasons and similar tragic events in his life. So even while his mate sat mourning, his sharp eyes had been fixed upon a certain wave crest out beyond the breaker line.

With a sudden swift rush of his wide wings he launched himself from the cliff; a wild plunge and he rose from the great wave bearing aloft a glistening herring. With a graceful sweeping detour, he swerved in toward the cliff, and finally landed close beside his mate, where he dropped the fish beside her with a little crooning, plaintive cry, which meant, of course, "Take this nice herring which I have brought you, and be comforted, little mate." With another swirl of his wings he flew to fish for another herring before the school could get away.

HE ROSE FROM THE GREAT WAVE,
BEARING ALOFT A GLISTENING HERRING.

In spite of the efforts of Silver Wing, who tried for days to rouse his mate and tempt her to fly off over the water upon fishing trips, she continued to linger around the old nest until he became almost discouraged. Finally he determined to leave Lonely Island, start off and found a new home, as many of his kindred had already done after the invasion of the cruel hunters. Accordingly, Silver Wing, in some manner known to his tribe, induced his companion to accompany him upon a long flight. One fine day, in company with others of the colony who decided to follow their old leader, they started for the far distant coast.

Occasionally they would halt upon some small, lonely island, but, as it happened, none of them proved to be exactly suited to the gulls' needs. The islands were often flat and sterile, mere strips of white sand and beech grass, with no rocky ledges suitable for nest building. So on and on flew the gulls, with heavy wings. Sometimes they would sight what appeared to be a small island, from which would trail long streamers of smoke. When the gulls came up close to these islands they would be terrified by strange, uncanny hootings and tootings. Besides, whenever they gained courage to hover over these strange, floating islands, they always proved to be filled with people, creatures like the hunters. One thing they discovered was that by following in the wake of the floating islands they always found plenty to eat, strange food of all kinds upon which they eagerly fed.

For a sea bird the worst storms at sea have small terror. The petrels, or "Mother Gary's Chickens," as the sailors call these birds, love best, it is said, to ride upon the very crest of a giant wave during a wild storm, and the gulls are equally at home upon the bosom of the ocean. It is only when straying birds are adrift, seeking a new country, and are driven ahead of a storm toward the coast, that they are occasionally overcome by the elements. So it happened that a great storm arose and struck the colony of fleeing gulls, sweeping them inland. On their great wide wings they flew ahead of the gale, on and ever on through the blackness of the inky night, until at last the poor wind-driven things finally sighted an object big and bright, beckoning, winking to them out of the darkness; and toward this the gulls, and a host of other smaller straying birds who were swept ahead of the storm, made their way. Hopefully they neared the bright beacon. The next rough, whirling gale caught them and dashed them pitilessly against the lantern of the lighthouse, and down again upon the blackness of the cruel rocks beneath them.

Fortunately. Silver Wing, the brave, giant gull, whose broad wings were still strong and unwearied, had penetrated the inky darkness with his sharp eyes. He had seen the danger ahead, and just at the right instant had swerved aside, with powerful wing strokes, just clearing the great lamp, which had almost blinded his eyes. So he with his mate, who invariably followed his lead, were swept coastward ahead of the mighty gale, but to safety.

When morning broke, Silver Wing and his mate found themselves upon the bank of a great river. Here were plenty of other gulls, but of a strange, new tribe. The river was bordered with mud flats, which at low tide formed splendid feeding grounds. Crayfish, and shoals of small, shining fish abounded. But, to tell the truth, neither the old gull nor his mate were very happy or contented with the river bank. They had known only the wild life of their lonely ocean island and missed the booming breakers along the cliffs, the companionship of the sea bird colonies, the terns, the gannets, and the little roving petrels. Besides, this new, almost tame tribe of gulls was vastly different in other respects. Silver Wing and his mate felt they could never mix with these small, brownish plumaged birds who fought and wrangled among themselves, who were content to brood for hours in the black mud of the river flats. More than once during their stay Silver Wing had really to thrash one of these bold, foolhardy brown gulls for presuming to pay attention to his own mate, and at last he came to hate the very spot, becoming wildly jealous of every brown gull who crossed him in any way. He and his mate determined to go off and seek a new home, for it was almost nesting time again, and Silver Wing realised the importance of settling as soon as possible. So, one day he gave the starting signal, and after hovering triumphantly overhead above the gormandising brown tribe upon the mud flats beneath them, screaming back a loud, lonely challenge, off they flew.