A Hermit's Wild Friends; or, Eighteen Years in the Woods

by Mason Augustus Walton

Several years ago I had occasion to pass every night a spot in the woods where dead horses are buried. The crows would gather there nightly, but always had a sentinel out. The sentinel took up a position in a tall oak on a hill where he could overlook all the approaches. When everything was quiet the sentinel called out, "Caw-caw-caw," which means "All is well." If a man approaches, the danger-signal is, "Cur-cur-cur," sometimes repeated, and it means "Look out there." It is uttered rapidly.

I noticed one night that the crow in the tree, as soon as he saw me, called out, "Caw-caw," and in a short time repeated the call. He had told his mates that the hermit was coming. My path passed within fifty feet of the crows, but they did not fly away. They had long ago found that I was not to be feared. Sometimes I had company, and the sentinel would then give the danger-call, "Cur-cur-cur," and the crows would fly away before we got in sight. I had this experience throughout the summer, so there could be no mistake.

This fall a young crow became quite familiar. He would call to me in the woods, "Caw-caw," and often fly near me. The old crows seemed to think he was in danger, or they thought he was departing from the ways of the fathers, and they always drove him away. They would beat him with their wings until he was forced into flight to save himself. This young crow had found food in my dooryard, and had heard the older crows say that "Caw-caw" was harmless, so he wanted to be friendly, no doubt with an eye to the food supply. I experimented with this fellow, in hopes that I could tame him, and learn from him and his mates something of the crow language.

As added to my knowledge of the young crow he proved to be a failure. I am now convinced that this youngster is not of sound mind. He utters the cry of a young crow, when calling for food, which shows that he has not acquired the crow language. The only exception to this rule is when he calls to me. Somehow he has been taught by other crows that my name is "Caw-caw," and whenever he sees me he calls out in an eager manner. Sometimes he steals away from his mates and comes to my dooryard. The crows hear him when he calls to me, and rush in, and with loud cries drive him into the woods.

There is another crow that "gobbles," and I have made up my mind that he is unable to utter the common cries of other crows.

A few years ago I followed this crow for two days. Not a sound escaped him other than the loud gobble. After this, I saw many things that convinced me that the crow was deaf and dumb.

There is another deaf and dumb crow about four miles away. He is located on the line between Gloucester and Essex.

Five years ago a Mr. Clark, a resident of Gloucester, told me about the last-named crow. Mr. Clark was ninety years of age. He was as straight and vigorous as a young man, and possessed a fund of amusing stories. He told how, when he went to his farm and found the crows pulling up his grain, the sentinel would call out, "Clark, Clark, Clark," and then another crow would cry, "Bother-the-luck, bother-the-luck."