His friendship was worth a great deal to Joe Maxwell, for there was not a bird in the woods nor a tree that he did not know the name of and something of its peculiarities, and he was familiar with every road and bypath in all the country around. He knew where the wild strawberries grew, and the chincapins and chestnuts, and where the muscadines, or, as he called them, the “bullaces,” were ripest. The birds could not hide their nests from him, nor the wild creatures escape him. He had a tame buzzard that sometimes followed him about in his rambles. He set traps for flying squirrels, and tamed them as soon as his hands touched them. He handled snakes fearlessly, and his feats with them were astounding to the town lad until Joe discovered that the serpents were not of the poisonous species. In handling highland moccasins and spreading adders, Jim-Polk confined his feats to seizing them by their tails as they ran and snapping their heads off. Whenever he killed one in this way he always hung it on a bush or tree in order, as he said, to bring rain. When it failed to rain, his explanation was that as a snake never dies until sundown, no matter how early in the morning it may be killed, it had twisted and writhed until it fell from the limb or bush on which it was hung.
Jim-Polk had many gifts and acquirements that interested Joe Maxwell. Once when the two lads were walking through the woods they saw a pair of hawks some distance away. Jim-Polk motioned to Joe to hide under a hawthorn bush. Then, doubling his handkerchief before his mouth, he began to make a curious noise—a series of smothered exclamations that sounded like hoo!—hoo!—hoo-hoo! He was imitating the cry of the swamp owl, which Joe Maxwell had never heard. The imitation must have been perfect, for immediately there was a great commotion in the woods. The smaller birds fluttered away and disappeared; but the two hawks, re-enforced by a third, came flying toward the noise with their feathers ruffled and screaming with indignation. They meant war. Jim-Polk continued his muffled cries, until presently the boys heard a crow cawing in the distance.
“Now you’ll see fun,” said young Gaither. “Just keep right still.”
The crow was flying high in the air, and would have gone over but the muffled cry of the owl—hoo! hoo! hoo! hoo!—caught its ear and it paused in its flight, alighting in the top of a tall pine. Swinging in this airy outlook, it sent forth its hoarse signals, and in a few minutes the pine was black with its companions, all making a tremendous outcry. Some of them dropped down into the tops of the scrub-oaks. They could not find the owl, but they caught sight of the hawks, and sounded their war-cry. Such cawing, screaming, fluttering, and fighting Joe Maxwell had never seen before. The hawks escaped from the crows, but they left many of their feathers on the battle-field. One of the hawks did not wholly escape, for in his fright he flew out of the woods into the open, and there he was pounced on by a kingbird, which Jim-Polk called a bee martin. This little bird, not larger than his cousin, the catbird, lit on the hawk’s back and stayed there as long as they remained in sight. The commotion set up by the crows had attracted the attention of all the birds, except the smallest, and they flew about in the trees, uttering notes of anger or alarm, all trying to find the owl.
The incident was very interesting to Joe Maxwell. He discovered that the owl is the winged Ishmael of the woods, the most hated and most feared of all the birds. A few days afterward he went with Harbert to see the hogs fed, and he told the negro how all the birds seemed to hate the owl.
“Lord! yes, sah!” said Harbert, who seemed to know all about the matter. “Ain’t you never is hear tell er de tale ’bout de owl an’ de yuther birds? Ole man Remus tole it ter me dis many a year ago, an’ sence den I bin hear talk about it mo’ times dan what I got fingers an’ toes.”
Of course, Joe wanted to hear—
THE STORY OF THE OWL.
“Well, suh,” said Harbert, “hit run sorter like dis: One time way back yander, fo’ ole man Remus wuz born’d, I speck, all de birds wuz in cahoots; dem what fly in de air, an’ dem what walk on de groun’, an’ dem what swim on de water—all un um. Dey all live in one settlement, an’ whatsomever dey mought pick up endurin’ er de day, dey’d fetch it ter der place wharbouts dey live at, an’ put it wid de rest what de yuther ones bin a-ketchin’ an’ a-fetchin’.
“Dey kep’ on dis away, twel, twant long fo’ dey done save up a right smart pile er fust one thing an’ den anudder. De pile got so big dat dey ’gun ter git skeered dat some un ud come ’long whilst dey wus away an’ he’p derse’f. Bimeby some er de mo’ ’spicious ’mong um up an’ say dat somebody bin stealin’ fum de provision what dey savin’ up ginst hard times. Mr. Jaybird, he coyspon’ wid Mr. Crow, an’ Mr. Crow he coyspon’ wid Miss Chicken Hawk, and Miss Chicken Hawk she coyspon’ wid Mr. Eagle, which he was de big buckra er all de birds. An’ den dey all coyspon’ wid one anudder, an’ dey ’low dat dey bleeze ter lef’ somebody dar fer ter watch der winter wittles whiles dey er off a-huntin’ up mo’. Dey jowered an’ jowered a long time, twel, bimeby, Mr. Eagle, he up an’ say dat de bes’ dey kin do is to ’pint Mr. Owl fer ter keep watch. Mr. Owl he sorter hoot at dis, but ’tain’t do no good, kaze de yuthers, dey say dat all Mr. Owl got ter do is ter sleep mo’ endurin’ er de night an’ stay ’wake endurin’ er de day.