"THE NEXT SENTINEL TAKES UP THE CALL."
In the winter months the crows visit the clam-flats for food. A sentinel is sent down to the woods, overlooking the flats, and when the tide goes out, this sentinel returns, and, flying in a circle above the pines, calls out "Caw-caw-caw," continuing the cry until he has completed the circuit.
This cry can be translated into "Come-come-come," or, "Clams-clams-clams." Anyhow, the crows understand, and a sentinel flies to a pine-tree just south of my cabin. Another drops into a large oak-tree on the hill looking to the east. Two more sentinels seek trees for observation, one near the clam-flats. The crow near the flats calls out "Caw-caw-caw," which means "All is well." The next sentinel takes up the call, and thus it is carried to crows in the woods. The latter fly to the sentinel-trees, if there is nothing to create fear. If a man should approach either sentinel with or without a gun, the danger-cry would be rapidly uttered. This cry "Cur-cur-cur," is usually quickly repeated, and the crows rush to the shelter of the pines.
Like human beings, crows have courts of justice. The jury, however, tries, convicts, and punishes the criminal. Sometimes I have witnessed these trials. Once, while sitting under a sentinel-tree, I saw six crows flying across the swamp, headed for the tree. Five of the crows were striking at one crow that was evidently trying to escape. When the crows reached the tree, the criminal was surrounded by the others. This was not to his liking, and he flew to an upper limb. One of the crows said something to him, and he answered in a loud, defiant tone. For ten minutes the trial went on. Each crow had something to say, while the criminal replied in the most aggressive style. At last the criminal seemed to be convicted, when he flew away with a string of caws that doubtless, in crow language, meant, "Go to hades, the whole blooming lot of you." One old crow shouted "Car-r-r-r-r," as much as to say, "I told you so," The crows followed the criminal, and as they disappeared in the deep woods beyond the swamp, they were making it extremely warm for him. I do not know how the matter ended, but I am satisfied that the bad crow received severe punishment.
I have read in books relating to natural history, that crows are in the habit of playing games. I can only say from my observation that crows take life very seriously. I have seen nothing like play in a lifetime of careful watching.
Courting is a serious business. The male rushes at his intended, mauling her, while he utters loud cries, in which he rolls his r's in the most approved stage style. When he has forced the young lady to say "yes," they are mated for life. Then he becomes tender in his attentions. He will sit for a half-hour or more, singing the crow love-song. It is not much of a song, but it is the best he can do. He draws his beak down to his breast while he utters liquid notes that remind one of the suction of a wooden pump.
This spring the king-birds returned to Bond's Hill, and I hope they will nest near by. If they do, the crows and hawks will have to walk Spanish. Last season the crows destroyed many birds'-nests in the woods in the immediate vicinity of my cabin. One pair of robins had four nests looted. Only two towhee-buntings were reared, and two nests of the chestnut-sided warbler escaped. The destruction in so small an area shows how fearful the havoc must be on a large territory.
If the king-birds do not nest near by, I shall continue the study of the crow at the muzzle of the shotgun, in defence of the song-birds that inhabit the woods around me.
Those that praise the crow can have but little knowledge of his destructive habits.